Untitled UNCLE Story
by SnowBird1452
Summary: This story is a small collection of moments set during the Man from U.N.C.L.E. that will eventually turn into a sequel.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything associated with these story, Man from Uncle or these characters. I am not making any money from this story. It is purely being written for my own enjoyment.

 **Author's Note:** So this is a story I've been working on for about a month and I'm about 40K words in. It's one of the stories I have in my rotation that I'm currently writing to help keep things interesting/to not get writer's block. I went back and forth between posting it on here or not, but I figured I would post a few chapters and see if anyone has an interest in it. If not, I'll just keep writing it on my own.

So the first three, possibly four chapters will take place within the movie universe. I don't like to re-write stories, but as you may have guessed, this is going to be an Illya/Gaby centric story, and I really want to explore what else was going on during that time that helped their feelings grow. Some of the scenes were in the movie, some were not and some are extended. Then, if I continue to post, it will go into a new mission. _Italics_ indicate Russian since and since I don't speak Russian, I'm not going to butcher it by just Googling words. :)

If you like it and want to see more, lemme know. As with all of my other stories, I don't do beta so I edit everything myself. If you find any mistakes, I apologize. If you're reading, I hope you like it.  
-SB

* * *

" **Would you mind it terribly if I borrow your car?"**

Gaby's fingers nervously drummed against the steering wheel as she pulled to a stop at the red light. "Are they still following us?" Driving was one of the things that she prided herself on, that came naturally to her, but she'd never felt so uncomfortable behind the wheel of a car in her life. A Russian spy was following them, one which the American had said would string her up by her toes and torture her. Living in East Berlin hadn't been easy by any stretch of the imagination, but that was not something she was eager to try.

Taking a deep breath, Gaby's eyes flashed to her rearview mirror. "Yes," she answered quietly.

The man who had previously introduced himself as Napoleon Solo seemed neither surprised nor bothered by this news. "Be a dear and hand me the brown paper bag out of my suitcase please. Thank you," he murmured, taking the bag Gaby was holding out for him. "Is there just the one?" he asked, screwing on the silencer.

"Yes." As Napoleon fitted his gun together, he rolled down the back passenger side window with his foot.

Gaby kept her eyes forward as the small, white car pulled up beside her. Trying to act as normal as possible, Gaby glanced at the car. The man driving looked oddly out of place in the small vehicle and his eyes were so intense they unnerved her. Quickly averting her gaze forward again, she tightened her grip on the steering wheel and ceased all fidgeting. "Tell me, does he only have one hand on the wheel? Hum for yes." Blinking twice, Gaby hummed quietly. "When you hear something that sounds like a gunshot, drive," Napoleon commanded.

Her eyes subconsciously darted to the blonde driver and not two seconds later she heard the muffled pop of three gunshots. Hurriedly, Gaby slammed her foot down on the gas and her car took off. Smoothly, Napoleon sat up and unfolded the map he had been drawing on earlier. "Did you get him?" she asked nervously, peeking at her rearview mirror.

"No," Napoleon answered, his attention falling to his map. "Let's hope he doesn't drive as fast as he moves."

As if on cue, lights flashed from behind her, drawing Gaby's gaze. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but he does."

Frowning, Napoleon looked back and saw the white car was right on their tail. "Take this right," he instructed.

As if he knew what she were going to do, Gaby and the driver of the white car both turned, ending up side by side driving down the next street. "Now what?" she breathed, starting to get nervous.

"Left here," Solo murmured, quickly being tossed to the right side of the car.

"Damn," he hissed, sitting back up to find the car still with them.

* * *

"My woman would never wear this." Gaby spun quickly on her heal to find herself staring into the chest of a very tall man. Taking a half step back, her mouth fell open in shock to find the Russian agent who had pursued Solo the other night looking down at her with mild interest, his hands folded behind his back.

"What the hell is he doing here and what does he mean, his woman?" she hissed, turning her glare to Napoleon.

"Well about that," he started. "We are, rather unfortunately, I might add, forced into a reluctant yet necessary partnership with the Soviets, and they don't come more Russian than the Red Peril here."

"You are now my fiancé. Congratulations," Illya Kuryakin said, smiling.

Nostrils flaring, Gaby quickly pulled off her earrings and necklace, tossing them into the couch in the waiting area. "Oh no. No, no, no, no, no," she murmured before storming out of the store.

"Smoothly done," Solo shot at the Russian agent, jogging to catch up with Gaby. "Gaby! Gaby, wait! I'm sorry. That wasn't how you were suppose to find out."

Halting in her movement, Gaby eyed Napoleon angrily. "Why do I have to be with him? I don't trust him. He tried to kill us the last time we saw him. According to you he wanted to hang me up by my toes and torture me."

"To be fair I don't think he was trying to kill you. I think in terms of killing, he was directing that towards me." Smiling brightly, Napoleon's hands slipped into his pockets. "I know this isn't ideal or what you were expecting and I'm sorry for that, but unfortunately it's not my call."

"But I don't understand. Why am I engaged to him?" she grumbled, her arms crossing her chest.

"It's your cover, Gaby. He is to be sent to Rome to study architecture for his latest project and he was able to secure a visa for his fiancé as well. While in Rome, of course you would take the time to introduce him to your favorite Uncle Rudi," Solo explained. Taking a step forward, he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It's best we all just play our parts and get this unpleasant business over with."

"Fine, but I'm not going back to East Germany," Gaby huffed as Solo maneuvered her back into the shop. "That's what they'll want."

"When we're done, you don't have to go anywhere you don't want to. I promise." He gave her a small smile as she moved off to the dressing rooms. Turning his attention to the Russian, Solo appraised him critically. "And what exactly is it that you're doing?"

Lifting a dress to inspect it, Illya shot Napoleon a sideways glare. "These clothes you put her in, they're not something she would be wearing."

"Oh really?" Solo challenged, stepping up to him. "Is that how you dress your women behind the iron curtain?"

Tisking, Illya slid the dress back onto the rack. "No, you see there. That is the attitude which is the problem. She's from behind the iron curtain, that doesn't mean she has to bring it with her. You dress her as an American would think a Russian would dress her, not how she actually would dress."

"It's hard to believe you aren't already married, Peril," Solo snorted. "You have such appeal."

Narrowing his eyes, Kuryakin opened his mouth to reply, but Gaby marched out from behind the dressing room curtain. "I quite like this one. Do you know this handbag costs more than my car?" she quipped, earning an appreciative smile from Solo.

"Well, my work here is done. I will leave you in the less than capable hands of our Russian friend here," Napoleon smirked, slapping his Russian counterpart on the back with a bit more force than necessary. "See you two love birds in Rome."

"I-wait!" Gaby hissed after him as Illya approached slowly, surveying her dress.

"Yes, this is good. I like very much," he murmured, manually turning her so he could see the back. Turning her to face him again, Illya reached out and picked up her left hand in his much larger one. "It is missing something though." Gently he placed a ring in her palm. "There, now we are engaged."

Sighing, Gaby inspected it. "I suppose it could be worse," she murmured to herself, slipping the ring on her ring finger.

* * *

After their shopping trip ended, Gaby was relieved to have arrived back at the apartment building they'd been staying in. Walking quickly, she sped through the lobby and up the stairs. Not missing a beat, Kuryakin followed her with ease, his long legs having to do half the work her shorter ones were. "Where is it that you are going?" he asked as Gaby kept climbing.

"I'm going to my room to be far away from you," she breathed, stopping at the fifth floor.

Blinking in confusion, the Russian continued his pursuit. "Your room is not on this floor, nor is it far away from me."

Ignoring him completely, Gaby marched to the door of the room she previously shared with Solo, 509, and knocked loudly. "It's open!" Napoleon called from within.

Practically throwing the door off its hinges, Gaby entered, tossing her bag onto the kitchen table. "What is he talking about?"

Looking up from where he was ironing, Napoleon Solo's eyes shifted to the tall Russian blocking his doorway, his arms crossed and his face agitated. "Gaby darling, you're going to have to be more specific."

"I am not staying with him. I don't even know him apart from that fact that he's pushy, rude, freakishly fast, tall and strong and he has no consideration for other people," Gaby said, her eyes wide.

"Unfortunately Gaby, your things have already been sent to the Red Peril's room. You'll be staying together in Rome, so it's best to rip that uncomfortable bandage off now." Smiling over at them, Napoleon nodded his head in their direction. "This fiancé story is going to work much better if you at least attempt to be friendly. You do know how to treat a lady, don't you Peril?"

Huffing, Gaby swiped her purse from the table. "I cannot believe this," she grumbled, pushing past the Russian who was in her way.

Kuryakin and Solo held each other's gaze, both frowning. "Perhaps you should go get your fiancé, Comrade. She's an awfully pretty little thing and a man like you was lucky to have bagged her in the first place, if you ask me. We both know it's fake, but you better stick with her to make sure someone, anyone else doesn't snatch her away."

"You need to keep your nose out of this, Cowboy," he grumbled, pointing accusatorily at the American spy. "We are not to know each other so continued contact is-"

"Are you coming?" Illya took a deep breath, his eyes remaining locked on Napoleon. Even though he could feel Gaby's eyes on his back, he refused to turn around until he had calmed himself.

Leaning to the side in his chair, Solo looked past the Russian to where Gaby stood, hands on her hips with her foot tapping. "I believe she's talking to you." Kuryakin opened his mouth, his top lip quivering but slammed his mouth closed so hard that there was an audible mashing of teeth. Turning around, he slipped his arm around Gaby's waist, leading her away from the room. "If it isn't too much trouble, could you kindly close the door?" Solo called after them. A moment later, Illya's dark face appeared before the door was loudly slammed behind him. "Thank you!"

* * *

Gaby followed the tall Russian down two flights of stairs to his small room. Opening the door, Illya stepped aside and gestured for her to enter. Eyeing him hesitantly, Gaby moved past him into the kitchen/living room area. "This is… cozy," she murmured, poking her head into the only bedroom. "There's only one bed."

"Yes, there is," Illya answered, closing the door and locking it behind him.

"I'm not sleeping with you," she gasped, eyeing him like he was perverted.

Rolling his eyes, the Russian removed his hat and set it on the table in the kitchenette. "What kind of man do you think I am?" Gaby said nothing, merely raised an eyebrow. "You will sleep in the bed and I will take sofa."

Pursing her lips, Gaby studied him carefully. "Fine."

The pair just stared at each other for a minute before Kuryakin cleared his throat, nodding to himself. "Yes well." Moving past her, he entered the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Not soon after, Gaby heard the water of the shower turn on.

Knowing he was preoccupied, Gaby slipped out of her coat and tossed it on the bed. Pursing her lips, she glanced back at the closed door of the bathroom. Satisfied that he wasn't going to come bursting through the door, she ran her fingers along the top of the dresser, stopping when she came to where his simple black suitcase was sitting.

As quietly as she could, Gaby popped the buckles and opened it. Inside were a few modest, solid colored sweaters, a couple pairs of slacks and a few devices she'd never seen before. Deciding not to touch them because she had no idea what they did, Gaby closed the case.

Stepping through the doorway to the small living space of the apartment, Gaby picked up the Russian's disregarded cap, sliding it onto her head. Flopping down onto the couch, Gaby grabbed a travel book on Rome from the coffee table. She only paused briefly when the water shut off before turning her attention back to the book in her hands. Apparently her fiancé had been doing a bit of research.

When the KGB agent walked out of the bedroom in a robe and pajama pants, towel drying his hair, Gaby spared him a glance. "What are you doing?" he asked, trying to see the cover of her book.

Closing it, Gaby waved the book around so he could see it. "Just doing a bit of light reading."

"Are you educated?" The question seemed to take them both aback, Kuryakin blinking in bewilderment. "I- what I mean to say is, do you like to read?"

Studying him closely, Gaby stood and walked past him into the bedroom. "I'm closing the door now. Don't come in, understand?"

Kuryakin opened his mouth to reply but she closed the door before his words left his lips. Letting out a frustrated breath, the KGB agent ran a hand through his damp hair before tossing his towel into the kitchen sink. " _Are you educated? Fucking idiot."_

* * *

When Gaby awoke the next morning, the first thing she checked was the door. While it didn't have a lock, she did put a strip of tape across it to make sure the Russian was honest. It remained unbroken. Sighing in relief, she pulled the tape from the door and opened it.

A wonderful smell floated into her nostrils. "Ah, you're awake. I was beginning to think I would have to wake you myself."

"What are you making?" Gaby asked, approaching and leaning over his arm to see the top of the oven. "Omelet," he answered, glancing at her quickly before averting his gaze to the food. "How did you sleep?"

Moving to grab two plates to set on the small kitchen table, Gaby flashed a small, wary smile. "Fine. How was the couch?"

Illya smirked as he turned, dividing the omelet onto the two plates as Gaby placed silverware down. "Small."

Sliding into a chair, Gaby picked up her fork. "Perhaps you're just unseemly tall."

Chuckling quietly, Illya sat opposite her. "Perhaps." He studied her face as she stared back. Seeming to have unnerved her, Gaby quickly forked some omelet into her mouth. Illya visibly winced as she did as well. "It's hot."

Open mouth breathing, Gaby nodded. "Yes, quite."

Placing her fork down, Gaby eyed him suspiciously. "So what is your story anyway?"

"I beg your pardon?" Illya asked, his brow knitting together.

"How did you become a spy?" she asked conversationally as if she'd asked him about the weather or for the time.

Gaby watched as his jaw clenched tightly. "That is classified."

"Your reason for joining the KGB is classified?" A playful smile spread across her face as she watched Illya Kuryakin squirm. "I don't believe you."

"You don't have to believe me," he said shortly, picking up his fork and scooping some of his food into his mouth.

Sighing, Gaby did the same. Once the food had cooled and she could taste the omelet, Gaby was shocked to hear the subconscious moan that slipped between her lips. Instantly her eyes darted to where the Russian sat frozen with another forkful of food poised at the entrance to his open mouth. Swallowing her food, she cleared her throat. "You're not as bad of a cook as I thought you'd be."

A smile twitched at the corner of his lips as he resumed his eating. "Thank you."

Taking another mouthful, Gaby controlled her response this time as she chewed. "Tell me, where does a deadly Russian super spy like yourself learn how to cook?"

"Oh, you like my cooking do you?" he asked, smiling.

"I never said that," Gaby murmured, smiling to herself as she continued to eat.

"My mother," Illya answered quietly, looking back to his plate self-consciously.

"What?" Gaby asked, not having heard what he had said.

"You asked me where I learned to cook," Kuryakin said, looking over at her. "I learned from my mother."

Gaby opened her mouth to say something but she thought better of it and her jaw snapped closed. She considered what to say before she spoke, her voice soft. "Well… it is very good."

The Russian flashed a small smile of pride, nodding to himself. "Good. Eat up. We have long day ahead of us."

Forking more into her mouth, Gaby licked her lips. "When do we leave?"

"Our flight departs in in an hour," he answered, standing and carrying his plate to the sink, washing it. "We should leave in thirty minutes at the latest."

"Alright," she breathed, staring at the piece of omelet on her fork.

There was a knock on the door. Illya froze. "What-"

Illya held a silencing finger up to his lips before moving over to the door. His hand slid into his shoulder holster and pulled out his gun, holding it behind his back. Quickly, he cracked the door open. Sighing, he opened the door wide and slid the gun back into his holster. Flashing the bellboy an overly friendly smile, Illya gestured for him to enter with the luggage cart of clothing.

"Thank you," he said, giving the young man a bill before closing the door behind him.

"I think you frightened him," Gaby chuckled, standing and moving past the tall Russian to place her plate in the sink with his.

Ignoring her comment, Kuryakin gestured to the cart. "There is suitcase for you. I suggest you get dressed and ready to go." Slipping on his brown jacket, Illya moved for the door.

"Where are you going?" she asked, setting the clean plates in the strainer.

"I must meet with my handler before we leave. Be ready to go in thirty minutes or you will be flying in your dirty chop-shop uniform." With that he opened the door and slipped from the room.

Glancing down at the only clothing she had with her from her previous life, Gaby gave a wistful smile. Turning to the cart of new, expensive clothing, purses and hats, Gaby felt a giddiness rise in her as she reached a hand out to touch the closest dress. It was the beautiful white and green one that her Russian KGB fiancé picked for her. There was a guilt associated with the hefty price tags that were attached to the designer duds. Gaby had never really had anything nice before, and these things in front of here transcended nice. They were spectacular.

Sighing, she released the cloth and pulled the crème colored suitcase out and opened it. "Time to go, my beautiful clothing."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything associated with these story, Man from Uncle or these characters. I am not making any money from this story. It is purely being written for my own enjoyment.

 **Author's Note:** As with the last chapter, I'm going to post a few and see how it is received. If there's an interest I will continue posting. If not, I'll just write it for myself.

Any dialog I borrow from the movie obviously isn't identical because it's just from memory, plus some of the scenes are altered slightly to accommodate my little side stories/interactions. I have no beta, it's just me, so any mistakes you find I do apologize. I write, re-read, edit, re-read again and edit again before I post in attempts to catch all my mistakes.

* * *

After meeting with the KGB senior agent, Illya returned to the room. He was pleased to find Gaby had packed up her things. He was just about to call her and give a five-minute warning when she stepped out of the bedroom, dressed and ready to go.

He starred at her a bit longer than he should have which was apparent by the look she gave him. "What? I thought you liked this one."

Swallowing the lump in his throat, the Russian nodded in approval at the orange and white ensemble she had tried on in the shop the previous day. "You look very… trendy."

"Yes well, I should given the price attached to these things," she murmured, holding up the purse and hat that went with the dress.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked, slipping off his jacket and then his holster.

"Not going to wear your gun on the plane?" she asked sarcastically.

Narrowing his eyes at the German woman in front of him, he shook his head. "No, I think not. From this point on I am Russian architect and- where is your ring?" he asked, sweeping up her left hand in his to inspect it.

"Relax," Gaby commanded, wrenching her hand away from him. Opening her purse, she fished out her engagement ring and practically shoved it onto her finger. "There. Happy?"

"Elated," Kuryakin breathed as he slipped on a sport coat. Walking into the bedroom, he retrieved his own black suitcase and placed it on the trolley with her things.

A knock signaled the bellboy's return and Gaby cut Illya off as he moved for the door, opening it before him. "Hello again," she greeted, flashing a bright smile. "If you would be so kind as to take our things down to the lobby, there should be a car waiting for us." The boy passed with red cheeks and a bashful smile. "Thank you so much," Gaby praised as he left, cart in tow. "We'll be along in just a moment." Closing the door behind him, Gaby spun to flash a triumphant grin with a raised eyebrow. "Perhaps you should take notes, Mr. Super Spy. That is how you act friendly and it's how you get people to like you."

"I don't need to be friendly. I just need to do my job," he muttered, frowning. "Besides, that does not count."

"And why not?" Gaby questioned sourly, shouldering her purse as Kuryakin did a quick scan of the kitchen.

"Because," he grumbled, his left hand coming to rest at the small of her back as he gently guided her from the room. "You have unfair advantage."

"Oh really." Gaby was dripping with amusement as they walked down the hallway towards the elevator. "How do you figure?"

"You are beautiful woman and he is young boy." Gaby watched Illya has he pushed the call button for the elevator, his eyes remaining forward. "Of course he liked you better."

Shrugging as they stepped into the elevator, Gaby looked her Russian fake fiancé over. "Do you own any shirts that aren't turtlenecks?"

Eyeing her suspiciously, Kuryakin turned forward again, facing the door. "Yes, but this is good. This is practical. Why? You expect me to wear fancy suit all day like the Cowboy?"

"No," Gaby said, looking him over again, "but a nice suit every once in a while never hurt anyone, and I'm sure you could wear a suit well." Her compliment threw Illya. He blinked in confusion as the elevator door dinged and she fluidly stepped out into the lobby. When Gaby realized she was alone, she looked back into the elevator. "Well, are you coming to Rome or not?"

"Sorry," he murmured, quickly exiting and offering her his arm. When she didn't immediately take it, the Russian swept her hand up and tucked it into the crook of his before leading her towards the exit.

"This is all a bit odd," she admitted, moving closer to him and testing the waters. Kuryakin reflexively tensed but relaxed a second later. "There, see? I'm not so bad," Gaby joked, earning a tight-lipped smile from the Russian as he opened the door of the car that was waiting for them. "Thank you."

Closing the door behind her, Illya paused, taking a deep breath. "Airport please," he murmured, addressing the driver before moving around the car and sliding in beside Gaby. "Gaby is short for Gabriella, yes?"

Eyeing him suspiciously, Gaby momentarily pursed her lips. "Yes, but I'm sure you already knew that."

"Why do you think that?" Kuryakin murmured, turning slightly to face her.

"Don't you though?" she challenged.

Exhaling rather loudly, Illya glanced out the window behind her. "Perhaps." Gaby simply raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest. "I have read your file, but a file is different than a person in real life."

"You've read my file?" she snorted, rolling her eyes. "And what exactly is in your file?"

"Keep your voice down," he hissed, his eyes darting to the front of their car to where their driver sat, seemingly unaware.

"Is this how you talk to your woman?" Gaby asked, her tone low but her voice was sharp. "I can't imagine she is a very happy girl."

Illya's jaw clenched as he stared back at her. "I did not mean to-"

"No, that's alright. You don't owe me any explanations," she said, shaking her head.

The Russian agent opened his mouth to say something, to apologize, but he found himself unable to form the words. Instead he simply nodded and turned to look out the window.

* * *

The plane ride was spent in uncomfortable silence. Illya tried several times to strike up a conversation but at each opportunity he was interrupted or Gaby shut him down instantly. It was unnerving for him because he was not used to being disarmed so easily by another, especially one so small. But the little girl from the auto garage was proving herself a formidable opponent.

Once they had landed and pulled into the airport, Illya stood, smoothing out his jacket. Glancing down at where Gaby sat, he offered her his hand. "Darling," he breathed, pleading with his eyes that she play her part.

Sighing, she slipped her hand into his and stood. "Are we here already? What a pleasant flight. I cannot possibly wait to see this beautiful city with my handsome fiancé."

Illya smiled at another couple as they passed. "As am I, but perhaps we should tone down the enthusiasm," he added under his breath.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she apologized, wrapping her arms around his waist as she stepped up to him, her arms affectionately rubbing his back. To anyone observing their interactions, they would just appear to be two young people in love. "I would never do anything to embarrass you, Illya."

"Hello," he greeted quietly as another group passed, giving them a small smile. "My darling, you spoil me with affection."

Stepping out of where his arms had encircled her, Gaby grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder. "Well I'd hate to do that. Shall we go?"

Eyeing her suspiciously, Illya offered her his arm and she quickly took it. As they stood in line waiting for their luggage, Gaby yawned. "Are you alright?" Kuryakin asked.

Gaby nodded. "Yes, I'm just a bit tired. It's been quite a busy couple of days." As if it were unconsciously done, Gaby leaned her head against his arm and nuzzled against him. "You know, you're not as bad as I wanted you to be."

Blinking down at her, the Russian couldn't help it when a genuine smile slipped onto his face. Kuryakin did his best to keep it as minimal as possible, but it was there. He spent the majority of his time alone, so finally being around someone, specifically someone he didn't mind to be around was refreshing for Illya. "This may be the only time I am happy to disappoint." Illya would've been happy sneaking looks at her for the rest of the afternoon, but his eyes darted to where an elderly couple was struggling to lift their suitcase from the revolving rack. "If you'll excuse me," he breathed, slipping Gaby's arm from his and stepping forward. "Please, allow me," he offered, easily pulling it off and setting it down on their luggage cart.

"Oh, thank you so much," the woman said, smiling brightly up at him.

"That's very kind of you son," the old man said, holding out his hand.

From her place several feet away, Gaby watched as the Russian stiffened at the man's words and the skin below his right eye visibly twitched. Gliding to his side, Gaby threaded her arm through his and gave it a small squeeze, the action seeming to snap him out of whatever trace he had entered. "That was very kind of you, my love."

Illya reached out and shook the man's outstretched hand. "It was nothing, I assure you."

"I'd think not, for a strong young man like yourself," the man chuckled, looking between the pair. "German and Russian; that's quite the odd couple," he commented, a twinkle in his eye. "If you don't mind me asking, how did you two meet?"

Stepping up to her husband's side, the woman gave him a warning look. "I think what my husband means to say is that you are a very lovely couple."

Gaby gave a small uncomfortable chuckle as she looked up at her fake fiancé. "I love when you tell the story Illya."

His brow scrunched in concentration as he cleared his throat. "Yes, well… I am Russian architect and was in Germany on business."

Glancing between the elderly couple who were waiting for more with patient expressions and her Russian spy, Gaby realized that he had finished his story and there was no more. Laughing, she drew everyone's attention to her. "Forgive my beloved, he gets very drained when we travel."

"I completely understand," the old woman smiled. "We must be going. Our car is waiting. Thank you again."

Illya simply nodded as the couple turned and began walking away. "We're going to have to work on your story telling, fiancé of mine," Gaby chuckled as she moved to grab her suitcase from the platform when Illya intercepted her.

"Do not trouble yourself. Allow me," he offered. When Gaby humorlessly stared back, his fact softened. "Please."

Sighing, she relented, removing her hand from the handle, allowing him to transfer their luggage to their trolley. Offering her his arm again, Illya began maneuvering the cart through the crowded airport. "Thank you," he said quietly enough that it was private between just them.

"For what?" Gaby asked, although her eyes held an understanding.

"You know for what," he said, his face expressionless.

Giving his arm a squeeze, Gaby nodded. "We're partners now, so suppose looking after you is part of that."

Seemingly bothered by her answer, Illya frowned. "I am supposed to be looking after you." Gaby's face mimicked his as her pleasant mood drooped. Kuryakin saw the change instantly. "What?"

"Men," she murmured, sliding her arm from his and walking ahead of him getting straight into the waiting car.

"Pleasant flight sir?" the driver asked, closing the door behind the angry German.

Illya stared at the tinted window that he knew his angry chop-shop girl sat behind. He could just picture her there, her arms crossed and stewing over whatever stupid thing he'd said this time. Mustering a half-hearted smile in attempts to play the agreeable architect, Illya turned to the driver. "It was long. I'm afraid we are both a bit tired. Please forgive my fiancé if she was short with you."

Giving a smile and a short nod, the driver began loading up their bags. "Nothing to forgive sir."

Sighing, Illya moved around the car and got in. The sooner they got checked in the sooner the mission could start and the sooner he would be away from the unnerving chop-shop girl and the loud cowboy.

* * *

Once they had arrived and checked in, Illya took a shower. There was always something calming and purifying about a hot shower; the water and steam seemed to carry away his stress, his sins.

Stepping out of the bathroom in his robe, Illya couldn't help but smile at where Gaby was lying on the floor with her feet kicked up on her bed, looking at him upside down. "What are you doing, little chop shop girl?" he asked, toweling off his wet hair.

"This is a very fancy hotel," she commented, pointing towards the chandelier that hung between their two twin beds. "How many chandeliers do two people really need in one room?"

Chuckling, Illya moved around the room, grabbing things from his bag. "As you say, it is fancy hotel."

Rolling to the side so she could swing her body upright, Gaby eyed him carefully. "Should we be staying somewhere so nice? I am a gutter rat from East Berlin after all."

"You may be from East Berlin but I am not," he said, grinning over at her. "I am big time Russian architect and you are my fiancé. I would wish to spoil you at every opportunity. Which reminds me," Illya murmured, walking over to where a dark suit hung on the wall. "Finish unpacking and get dressed."

"I am dressed," Gaby refuted, standing. "What's wrong with what I have on?"

Kuryakin eyed her outfit with appreciation but shook his head. "It is very nice, but no. You will need nicer. I am taking you out for fancy dinner."

Gaby's arms crossed her chest. "Why all of the fanciness? Isn't it all a bit much?"

"Because," Illya said approaching, "I am fancy architect. We stay in fancy hotel and eat at fancy restaurants." When Gaby didn't seem appeased by his attempt at humor, Illya sighed. "I know you are not happy being here and I know you are not happy being here with me, but here we are together. We must make best of bad situation."

Exhaling loudly, Gaby nodded. "Alright fine. I suppose I could complain a little less."

"Thank you," the Russian nodded, heading back into the bathroom to change.

When he exited, adjusting his tie, Illya paused in his movements as his eyes caught sight of Gaby struggling to finish getting dressed. "Oh good, come over here and help me," she called, signaling him. Swallowing hard, Illya finished with his tie as he approached, his hands dropping to his sides. Glancing over her shoulder, Gaby pointed to the zipper. "Do you mind?"

Clearing his throat, Kuryakin flashed a nervous smile. "Of course." Tentatively he reached out but quickly retracted his hands when the made contact with her bare back.

"Your hands are cold," she hissed.

"Sorry," he apologized, reaching forward again, this time his fingertips ghosting over her warm skin. "This is a lovely dress," the spy said, trying to make polite conversation as he zipped it up. Taking a relieved breath at his tasks completion, Illya smoothed out the shoulders, allowing his hands to linger longer than was necessary.

"Thank you." Turning, Gaby took in his appearance.

"What do you think?" he asked, a hint of self-consciousness in his tone. "It is not flashy or extravagant as Cowboy's, but I hope I will not embarrass you."

Flashing a small smile, Gaby lightly dusted of his left lapel. "Extravagance isn't important to me." When Illya simply stared down at her, Gaby felt a light blush come to her cheeks. "Shouldn't we be going?" she asked, withdrawing her hands from his jacket.

"Yes, of course," Illya said, smiling as he watched Gaby move to get her coat. "I hope you enjoy Italian."

Snorting in her un-lady like fashion, Gaby draped her coat over her arm. "We are in Rome. Is there another choice?"

Chuckling quietly, Illya glanced down at where his father's watch sat on his wrist. "No, probably not, but I was trying to be polite."

"Such a gentleman," Gaby breathed, approaching. Shouldering her bag, she nodded her head towards the door. "Shall we?"

Holding out his arm for her, Illya smiled. "Come."

* * *

"Tell me, darling," Gaby asked as they exited the elevator and headed through the lobby. "How exactly do you plan on getting to my father?"

"By using your uncle," Illya murmured, his face pleasant but his eyes were sharp as a dagger. "Ugh," he scoffed, his eyes snapping forward.

"What is-?"

"Don't look at him," Kuryakin grumbled, reaching down to re-adjust her hand on his arm as they passed Napoleon Solo, strutting through the lobby and up to the check-in counter.

* * *

"You look uncomfortable."

From his place across from her, Illya looked up from his menu. "Perhaps it is because I am uncomfortable."

"This was your idea you know." Folding her menu closed, Gaby set it down on the tabletop. Taking a sip of her wine, she eyed the Russian spy closely. "How did you get your scar?"

Illya opened his mouth to reply to her but their waiter returned. "Are you ready to order?"

"Darling?" Illya murmured, his eyes dancing in the candlelight.

"Please," she smiled back, gesturing for him to continue as she took another sip of wine. "My fiancé is a bit opinionated," she murmured playfully to the waiter.

Grinning, he shook his head and turned back to his menu. "We will have the caprese salad to start and split the tortellini."

"Excellent choice sir," the waiter breathed, collecting their menus and hurrying away.

Taking a sip of his water, Illya stared back at Gaby. "Will this please you?"

Gaby shrugged. "I'm sure it will be delicious, but you didn't answer my question."

Glancing to his right, Illya eyed the men a few tables over. They were the same ones sitting in the lobby when they passed earlier. "It is long story."

"We have time," Gaby replied, her eyes narrowing as he turned back to her.

"It is personal."

"In other words, you don't trust me."

Pursing his lips, Illya simply stared back blankly. "I do not-" he started but was once again interrupted by the wait staff. "Thank you," he murmured as a runner from the kitchen placed their salad in between them. "Please," he said, gesturing for her to take some first. Appeasing him, Gaby placed some on her plate and some on his as well. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Please do not take it personally. I trust no one," he said conversationally, cutting up his tomatoes. "But since we are engaged, we might as well get to know each other more." Gaby, still irritated, ignored him and forked some of her salad into her mouth. "I am an only child." Gaby's eyes drifted to his but she said nothing. "I am national champion in Judo." There was a hint of a smile threatening to break through. "I am also champion at chess."

Finally relenting, Gaby smiled. "You are the worst, you know that?"

"Thank you," he smiled, forking some food into his mouth. "Now tell me about you." It wasn't forceful, but it wasn't a request. Gaby placed her fork back on the table and dabbed the corner of her mouth with her napkin. "You do not act like daughter of mechanic."

"You've read my file," she said, leaning back in her chair. "Don't you know all there is to know?"

Following her lead, Illya set his fork down as he finished chewing. "They have file on me too. Do you know what it says?" Gaby's face softened slightly at his words. "It says I am champion of things and that I was youngest member of KGB, but it also says I am the son of disgraced Soviet soldier. That I am prone to psychotic episodes triggered by… past trauma."

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked quietly.

"Because," Kuryakin took a deep, steadying breath, "we are more than what a file says."

Gaby gave him a small smile as she reached across the table, taking his right hand in her left. "I'm sorry."

"Do not be sorry," he muttered, giving her hand a small squeeze before turning it over in his larger one to stare at her engagement ring. "We cannot change the past."

"My family- my biological mother's family- from what I can remember they were very strict when it comes to manners and society." Gaby's eyes drifted to where her hand sat in the Russian's larger one. "I never met my biological father's family. My real family was the one that took me in when my father abandoned me."

"And your mother?" Illya asked, studying her body language.

Gaby shook her head, slipping her hand from his. "I never really knew her. She died when I was very young. I have a few memories but that is all they are."

"Well, at least we know she was beautiful."

Rolling her eyes, Gaby took a sip of her wine. "Are you trying to flirt with me, Illya Kuryakin?"

It was the first time she'd said his full name and it did something unsettling to his stomach. "No, just being honest." When her brow scrunched in confusion, he grinned playfully. "I've seen picture of your father. He is very bald, very plain looking man. You look nothing like him." His joke made Gaby laugh and Illya decided that her laugh was one of the best sounds he'd ever heard.

* * *

"Thank you for dinner," she said, smiling up at him as they exited the restaurant.

Bowing his head slightly, the tall Russian agent swept up her left hand, laying a quick kiss on it. "It was my pleasure." He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and began leading her away from the row of taxies that lay in wait.

"Where are we going now?" Gaby asked, glancing over her shoulder and pointing at the cars.

"We are tourists and I am architect," he explained, leading her towards a tall, wide set of stone stairs. "There are sights that need to be seen."

Conceding, Gaby allowed him to lead her down the steps. "Alright Mr. Architect, tell me about these." When Illya looked confused, glancing down at the stairs, she flashed a toothy grin. "I'm assuming you did your homework…"

Blinking rapidly a few times, Illya gathered his thoughts. "About the stairs?" Gaby nodded. "Well, many people think it was Italian architect and give him credit, but it was actually Russian architect."

"Really?" Gaby questioned, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"Yes, really," Illya said, this time his voice was more confident than before. "Like all good Russian sons, he loved his mother Yaggida very much and considered her his muse."

"Hmm," Gaby mused aloud, taking a drink from the fountain water as Illya watched her carefully.

"Unfortunately for him, Yaggida passed away just before completion, so he made the stairs one for each year she was alive."

Gaby's head tilted to the side in thought before she quipped, "She died when she was 135?"

His eyes widened slightly at her question before his brow knit together. "Uh… no. She died when she was 100 and at the time he was 35, so 135 stairs," Illya said quickly, smiling.

Pursing her lips together, Gaby leaned against the fountain as she thought. "So she gave birth when she was 65?"

Illya's face scrunched as if he had bitten into a lemon as he mulled over her question. "No…" he drew out, realizing Gaby was not only very smart, but a very quick thinker. "I-" he stopped, glaring at where Napoleon Solo had stopped a few feet away from him, perched on a yellow moped. "We are not supposed to be seen together," he hissed, glancing around as he signaled for Gaby to come to him.

Confused, she carefully stepped over the water and appeared by the Russian's side. "While you're correct, I thought you'd like to know that you're being followed," Solo commented off-handedly as he continued to not make contact and stared at the fountain.

Gaby shot Illya a worried look but he gave her a reassuring shake of his head before turning back to scowl at the American. "Yes, I know. Two men from hotel lobby; one in brown coat other in leather jacket, which is precisely why you should not be here."

"Oh please," Napoleon sighed, rolling his eyes as he finally turned to face the other two members of his team. "If you were paying attention at all they turned left back there which means they're going to be waiting for you up ahead."

Clenching his jaw in anger, Kuryakin waved his hand dismissively. "I can handle them."

Gaby's eyes shifted between the two men who clearly had not set aside their differences before joining forces. "And of course by handle them you mean act scared and let them mug you."

"Scared?" the Russian grumbled, clearly running out of patience for the conversation.

"Why would he do that?" Gaby questioned quietly.

"It's a test. They're checking to make sure your fiancé here is not actually a KGB agent," Solo said, smirking. "I don't need to remind you that you are a Russian architect, do I?"

Scoffing, Illya shoved his left hand into his pocket so no one would be able to see his pointed finger tapping, a visible twitch he'd developed over the years. "Let them mug me," he muttered.

"I think you should as he says." Kuryakin turned his angry gaze onto his fake fiancé. "It makes sense," she said, answering his look of betrayal.

"And remember… take it like a pussy," Solo smirked, earning himself a murderous glower from the Russian.

"This is not the Russian way," he hissed quickly before grabbing Gaby's hand and practically dragging her away from the fountain.

* * *

The rest of their walk was spent in silence as the Russian giant stewed over his fate and Gaby felt like she was walking on pins and needles. Every shadow, every noise she thought could be someone ready to jump out and attack them. Would they give warning?

"Where do you think they are," she whispered, snuggling closer to him.

His face still very angry, Illya kept his eyes forward. "Up ahead."

"How do you know?" she questioned, glancing behind them.

Sighing, Kuryakin stopped their slow progression and turned to her. "I don't, but it is where I would wait if I were them." Re-adjusting her arm in his, Illya resumed their leisurely pace.

"It will be alright," she murmured quietly, giving his arm a small squeeze.

Illya side-eyed Gaby as he continued moving forward towards the Coliseum. He sighed, some of the anger leaving his face. "I should be reassuring you, not other way around." He looked as if he were about to say something else, but quickly rethought it. "They're just there," he said, nodding his head forward to their right. "Just stay calm."

Gaby didn't know if he'd said the last part for her or him, but she nodded just the same. As if he'd planted them there himself, they soon walked past two shady looking men. "Nice shoes."

Glancing to their right, Illya critically looked them over. "Thank you."

"Give them to me," the first called, hopping down off of where he was perched on a low wall.

Clenching both hands into fists, Kuryakin's sharp eyes followed as the one man stepped into their path, halting their movement forward. "Your feet are a little… small."

Gaby's eyes nervously shifted between the two muggers and her fake Russian fiancé. "Then give me some money for coffee."

She could see the Russian's resolve to play the helpless architect was wearing thin. Catching his eyes, Gaby did her best to beseech him to play along. "Darling, give them money for coffee."

Stiffly, Illya reached into his jacket pocket and fished out his wallet. Producing a large note, he held it out. The second mugger who had been silent thus far reached out and not only grabbed the bill, but his other hand snatched the Russian's wallet. Gaby saw Illya's eye twitch, so she knew he was close to breaking. "Illya," she said, using his name to gain his attention. "Give the man your wallet." Sighing, he released the wallet.

"I'll take the ring too." Illya's anger flared at that request, but before he could refute, a scowling Gaby was reaching for her finger.

"Fine," she growled, ripping her ring off and shoving it into the mugger's hand.

"That's a nice watch," the second commented.

Kuryakin's eyes met Gaby's and his head gave a short shake. "Dearest, give them the watch," she commanded, not knowing what she'd asked of him.

When he didn't instantly move to relinquish the timepiece, the first mugger slapped him across the face. "Give me the watch."

"Give him the watch," the other taunted, slapping Illya again.

A tremor started in his hands as Illya clenched them into fist by his side. "Your watch," Gaby whispered.

The sound of a switchblade seemed to draw Illya from his trance as his eyes widened in anger, spinning on his heal to glare at the mugger behind them. Illya reached down and undid his watch, holding it out. The second mugger swiped it from his hand before spiting in his face. Almost as if it was unconsciously done, Illya's right hand shot out at incredible speed, punching the man in the throat.

"Illya," Gaby shrieked, grabbing his wrists and attempting to hold them at his side as the first mugger moved to help his friend. "Illya, calm down."

Kuryakin's blood was boiling. Mission or not, nuclear bomb or not, he was about to lose control. When he started this journey years ago, he made a vow to himself that he would turn his body into a weapon so that he would never have to endure being beaten again. Now not only had he been belittled, threatened, he had been slapped and spat at in front of his- well, not his but for all intensive purposes, his- woman.

"Is that you taking it like a pussy? You couldn't fooled me," Napoleon Solo gloated as he approached, his hands shoved into the pockets of his expensive suit.

Wrenching his arms free from Gaby's grasp, Illya turned on the American with hatred in his eyes. "I am architect, but I am still Russian."

"Yes, but they were testing you and you punched him in the throat," Solo pointed out, coming to a stop in front of the KGB agent.

"Maybe I fight back, but that is what any Russian would've done. A KGB agent would've killed them," Illya rationalized.

"You've actually given this a lot of thought, haven't you?" Solo teased.

As the two spies argued with each other, Gaby perched herself on a rock and just watched, all the while becoming more and more fed up with their childish rivalry. "Hey!" she called, earning both of their attention as they had stepped up to each other, on the verge of coming to blows. "I thought you two were supposed to be looking after me. Tell me, why I am playing mother, huh?" Napoleon and Illya shared a look before turning back the German. "If you two don't stop arguing, I'm out of here," she threatened before turning and walking away.

"Nice job, Cowboy," Illya growled, shooting him one last glare before quickly walking after his fake German fiancé. "Gaby!" he called, jogging slightly to catch up with her. "Gaby, stop," he ordered as she continued walking at her quickened pace. Finally he reached out and grabbed ahold of her arm.

"What?" she hissed, jerking her arm from his grasp.

Kuryakin's face was it's usual stone cold mask of indifference, but something else was threatening to break through which was becoming more and more common the longer he stayed in the presence of Gaby Teller. "You should not be walking alone. It is not safe."

Raising her eyebrows, Gaby laughed humorlessly. "In case you missed it, we were just mugged."

"Yes, but that was fake," he said, shrugging her concerns off. "If anyone were to try again, I would kill them."

"That's funny, it seemed pretty real to me," she breathed, "and it looked like it seemed pretty real to you too."

Illya narrowed his eyes at her comment. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Taking a step forward, Gaby poked him in the chest defiantly. "It means you looked like you were going to lose it back there. What was that about? Why were your hands shaking like that?"

"Nothing," Illya said, his voice hushed and his posture hinted of embarrassment.

"No, it was not nothing," she challenged. "Tell me."

Taking a deep breath, Illya exhaled loudly. "That was my father's watch. It is all I have of him."

Blinking several times, Gaby let his words sink in. "Illya, I'm sorry."

Shaking his head, he dismissed her words of comfort. "It is no matter now, it is gone. It was just a watch." Taking another calming breath in and out, Illya reached down and swept up her hand, tucking it back into its familiar place in the crook of his arm. "Come. I believe we've had enough excitement for one day."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything associated with these story, Man from Uncle or these characters. I am not making any money from this story. It is purely being written for my own enjoyment.

 **Author's Note:** Thanks to everyone who reviewed. I'm going to post this third chapter and let the dust settle, so to speak. I know I've posted three chapters pretty quickly, but that's because I already have a lot of it written. This chapter has a couple "expanded" movie scenes in it and some new ones. Again, no beta, just me. Any mistakes you find I apologize. Hope you like it!  
-SB

* * *

Once they got safely back to their room, Illya mumbled about having to take care of something and left without another word leaving Gaby feeling angry, awkward and alone. She was currently the sole inhabitant of their giant, lavish hotel room with nothing to do after having just been nearly attacked. And to think she was a lowly mechanic in East Germany not 48 hours ago. How strange life was.

Gaby changed into her pajamas and scrolled through the room service menu. Not finding anything she wanted, she walked over to the bar and selected an expensive looking bottle of vodka. Screwing off the cap, she poured herself a large glass and set her mind to drinking until she didn't feel worried or uncomfortable anymore.

* * *

When Illya arrived back to his room from speaking with his handlers, he found Gaby sprawled out on the couch with a glass of clear liquid in her hand. He passed her slowly, eyeing the glass suspiciously. "How was your business?" Gaby asked.

Sliding off his jacket and laying it across the back of his chair, he turned back to face her. "Fine. How is the vodka?"

"Good guess," she smirked, sitting up.

"I'm Russian, so guess… not so much," he quipped earning a snorting laugh from Gaby. Smiling to himself at her unabashed laughter, Illya pulled out his chessboard and moved to sit in the chair to her right. "Do you play?" he asked as he began setting up the board.

"Not if I can help it," she murmured, finishing the rest of her glass. Illya sighed upon hearing that the frigidness that had creeped into her voice. She was still angry with him after all.

When the phone rang, Illya moved to stand but Gaby was already on her feet. "I'll get it. It's probably my Uncle Rudi anyway. He said he would call."

Nodding, he watched her answer the phone. It was in fact her uncle and the two began talking animatedly with each other in German. Illya half-heartedly listened to what Gaby was saying, but he was trying to force himself to focus completely on the chessboard in front of him.

He was losing sight of the bigger picture, of his mission. This girl from East Berlin was bewitching him causing a distraction when he should be focused, single-minded.

As Gaby paced the living room, Illya would look up every so often, unable to help himself. The Russian spy was never like this with women. He was not inexperienced, but he was never sentimental either. Attachments were weakness and feelings were disruptions. He was no Cowboy, but he kept everyone at arm's length. Sighing, he tore his eyes away from the little chop-shop girl in her striped pajamas and scanned the game of chess he was playing by himself.

"Well, the night was not totally free of excitement. We were robbed." Illya's eyes unconsciously snapped to where Gaby stood by the bar. When she saw him looking, Gaby smirked. "We're fine, but Illya is a little shaken up. He's never been in a fight before," she said, looking directly at him with a smile on her face.

Kuryakin rolled his eyes at her taunt, determined to ignore her now. He moved a pawn forward and sat back, his fingers steepled in front of his face. "Oh course Uncle Rudi. We will see you tomorrow. Thank you."

Illya heard the phone click signaling that Gaby had hung up, but he refused to acknowledge it as he continued to stare at the chessboard until Gaby placed two glasses down loudly on the table. He said nothing, but turned his attention to the little German. "My uncle has invited us to an anniversary party tomorrow for Vinciguerra Shipping."

"Good," Illya murmured, leaning forward to move another piece. "Now I can keep an eye on Cowboy as well."

"Would you like a drink?" Gaby asked, pouring him one despite not having an answer and holding it out for him to take.

As a rule, Illya never drank while he was on a mission, but the reasoning stemmed from not wanting to feel out of control of himself at all times. Then again, the little chop-shop girl was doing just fine on him and his control without any alcohol needed. "No. Thank you," he breathed, looking back to his game.

"Fine," Gaby huffed, downing his glass and then hers.

"Perhaps I should fetch you larger glass," he suggested, but that only seemed to add fuel to her fire.

"Perhaps you should drink with me." It was a challenge.

Illya clenched his jaw in annoyance as he spared her a steely glance. "No."

Rolling her eyes at him, Gaby poured a large glass of vodka and marched past him. Illya remained bent over his chessboard but his whole body froze as he listened carefully to her movements in the room behind him trying to figure out what she was doing.

That's when the music started to pour from the radio. Closing his eyes, he tried to clear his mind and push all thoughts of her from it. Opening them again, Illya took a deep breath and trained his eyes on the chessboard. As he tried to determine his next move, Kuryakin swore the music got louder. Unable to play any longer, he knocked over his king and stood, moving towards their bedroom.

Gaby was smoothly drifting around the large space, dancing by herself in her pajamas with her sunglasses over her eyes and her glass in her hand. If Illya wasn't so frustrated, he may have smiled at the sight, but he forced himself to remain stone faced as he approached. "I'm going to bed. Please turn this off." As Kuryakin tried to move to pass her, Gaby slid in front of him, blocking his path.

"I need a partner," she said, continuing to dance. "It's no fun dancing by yourself."

"No," he said quickly, trying to side step her but again she intercepted him.

"No as in you can't dance or no as in you don't want to?" Gaby turned, setting her drink down on the nightstand.

Illya's true feelings betrayed him, falling onto the beautiful woman dancing in front of him. "Let's say both," he murmured, the last of his resolve crumbling.

Still swaying to the music, Gaby reached out and took his hands in hers. Humming, she began swinging his arms in time with the beat of the song. Illya gave her one more half-hearted frown before a small, embarrassed smile broke through as he allowed her to swing him around like a giant doll. "See, this isn't so bad," Gaby crooned, waggling her eyebrows at him.

Illya always hated feeling out of control. At that moment he definitely felt out of control, but he didn't hate it. Even though this was most definitely something he didn't want to do, it was making Gaby smile so it was making him smile, but he felt more than slightly foolish. Then, out of nowhere, Gaby took his left hand and slapped him in the face with it. Freezing, he glared down at her in shock, his eyes dark and hard, giving her a clear warning. "Sorry," she apologized gingerly, stepping forward and grabbing his hands again.

Remaining still this time, Illya continued to scowl down at the German girl. Lacing their fingers together, she began to swing his arms more animatedly and again the Russian found himself smiling despite his best efforts. Gaby pursed her lips together and made a silly face that caused him to almost laugh, but he rolled his eyes instead.

Slap. Startled and genuinely angry this time, Illya's nostrils flared as he glared down at her, his eyes wide. "You are not in East German chop-shop anymore," he warned, pointing accusatorily at her.

"Still no drink?" Gaby smiled innocently over at him as she moved to stand next to her bed, taking a sip of her vodka.

"Don't you make me put you over my knee." It was supposed to be a threat, but Illya wasn't sure he would actually be able to follow through with it, not that she'd let him.

Glancing to her right, Gaby seemed to ponder his words. "So you don't want to dance, but you do want to wrestle?"

His face scrunching in confusion, Illya blinked several times. "I did not say that."

Before he knew what was happening, Gaby changed him, putting her head down and her arms encircled his waist as she slammed into him.

"Ugh," he grumbled at the impact, his hands coming to her waist to try and stop the momentum she had gained by running and the element of surprise, but it was too late. He tumbled backwards over the couch knocking over the glass serving cart and breaking it and all its contents as Gaby's small body fell over his and onto the floor. Despite the fact that she was attacking him, Illya reached out to attempt to grab her to lessen her fall, but she had bounced too far away from him too quickly.

Rubbing his head, Illya swung onto his knees. The couch and coffee table were toppled over. He heard a growl and turned just in time to see Gaby charging him again. This time he was more prepared and shot up, swinging her past him onto the other couch, frowning as she and it fell backwards, knocking over another table holding vases of flowers. "Had enough yet, chop-shop girl?" he called, walking around to check on her as glass crunched under his feet.

"Don't worry, I'm fine," she breathed, wincing as she touched the side of her head.

Now concerned that he may have hurt her, Illya stretched out his hand to help her up. Reaching for it, Gaby was pulled to her feet. "Are you hurt?" As Illya reached out a hand towards her head to inspect it, Gaby slapped it away, her face defiant. "Don't," Illya warned, his face stern as he moved towards her again, and again she slapped his hand away.

Letting out an aggravated growl, Kuryakin quickly swooped down and threw Gaby over his shoulder. "Illya! Put me down!" she shrieked, pounding her fists against his back.

"You are very violent for such a little thing," Illya said, his voice playful as he carried her towards the bedroom.

"I may be small, but I'm not too small to beat you," Gaby hissed, elbowing him with everything she had.

Grunting upon impact and flinching just enough for her to wiggle out of his hold, Gaby slid to the floor and pushed the tall Russian over the sitting chair. As he and the piece of furniture fell to the ground with a loud thud, Gaby threw herself on top of him.

Rolling over to try and throw her off of him, somehow Illya wound up below her with Gaby straddling his hips. He tried to sit up but her hands on his shoulders were pinning him. Kuryakin could've easily overpowered her, but she was so small that he realized how easily he could accidently hurt her. Illya tried pulling her arms off of him but she was determined and strong for her size. Once his brain had slowed down, Illya realized the compromising position they were in. Gaby was staring down at him, her breathing hard and her eyes hooded. Searching her face, his hands slid up her arms and to her back of their own accord as their faces seemed to inch closer. The Russian could no longer deny the innate connection and attraction between them as her face hovered a hair's distance above his. He parted his lips, whether to kiss her or say something, he didn't know, but Gaby's eyes drifted the rest of the way closed and she slumped against him.

Shocked and perplexed, Illya glanced to where Gaby's face was pressed against his. Carefully he lifted her head and took in her relaxed, serene expression. She had fallen asleep. Sighing, he remained on the ground with the small sleeping woman in his arms as he stared up at the ceiling. How had he ended up here? He was the KGB's top agent and now he was in a hotel room with a beautiful woman asleep on top of him.

After a few minutes of reflection, Illya resolved himself to stand. Vigilantly he cradled Gaby's tiny body to his as he navigated through the carnage that was their hotel room. As he did, the Russian made a mental note to have someone come tidy it up and replace things when they were out the next day. Holding her securely with one arm, Kuryakin pulled back the covers on Gaby's bed and maneuvered her under them. Pulling the covers over her, Kuryakin's eyes stared down at the beautiful woman who- while unconscious- had grabbed hold of his hand. He took in where their fingers were locked together and Illya couldn't deny the pang of loneliness that rang out within his chest. While he worked in a network of people and was in constant contact with some, he always was alone. He had no friends, he had no partner and really had no family left. His life was his work. It had never occurred to him how empty it was until he had met the brave little German girl.

Giving her hand a squeeze, he reached down and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Good night, little chop-shop girl." As he moved to step away, her hand released his but her pointer finger caught on his pinky. Glancing back at it, he gave a small smile before moving away to try and clean up before he retired for the night.

* * *

The next morning he rose with the sun as was the normal routine. Not wanting to wake Gaby, he went for a run to clear his head. When he arrived back at the hotel, he met with another agent in the elevator who supplied him with a new engagement ring. This time instead of flashy gems the ring held a single black pearl with small diamonds framing it.

"This will do what I asked?" he inquired, tucking the ring safely into his pocket.

"Of course. Listening device."

Nodding, Illya stepped out of the elevator at his floor and continued on his way. Gaby was in the shower when he entered the room, so Illya made himself busy by getting ready for the party. Finally he decided on a dark navy suit, a light green shirt and a bow tie. Just as he'd finished tying the bow he heard the water shut off in the shower and a knock on their door at the same time.

Stepping out from their bedroom, Illya glanced around the common space. While it was in better shape from the night before, broken pieces of furniture were still scattered around the living room. He'd spent hours meticulously cleaning up all the glass, porcelain and metal pieces that could be harmful, but the living space of their room was still a complete mess.

Opening the door a crack, he saw it was Solo. Closing it quickly, he took a calming breath before stepping out into the hallway and closed the door behind him. "What do you want?"

"These are Russian made," the American spy tossed him a Russian listening device for every word he said. Standing back clearly pleased with himself, Napoleon Solo leaned against the wall opposite the Russian.

Frowning down at the hand full of Russian listening devices, Illya held up a finger telling Solo to wait as he slipped back into his room. Grabbing a larger handful of American bugs, Illya stepped back out into the hallway and threw them to Solo. "These are American made," he said, mimicking Napoleon's previous delivery. As the American spy stared down at them, he felt the need to add some more. "And very low tech."

Sighing, the American spy eyed his Russian counterpart from his robe and slippers. "Why are you dressed like that?"

"Gaby's Uncle Rudi invited us to the party," Illya shared, his voice gloating. "So it looks like you won't be the only one there investigating. I will be happy to pick up everything you miss."

"Excellent," Solo breathed, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. "Well I guess I'll see you there." As he turned to leave, Napoleon paused, pointing at Illya. "That tie doesn't go with that outfit."

Illya glared after the American before retreating into his room.

* * *

Once the door to their suite had been closed behind him, Illya's eyes narrowed as he looked around their rooms. While he brought some bug detecting tools with him, Illya had been optimistic that the Americans would be committed to their partnership. Granted that did not stop him from bugging Solo's room before he arrived, but he had hoped he wouldn't need to use any of them.

Last night while he was sweeping up a shattered vase, Kuryakin had stumbled upon something confusing looking that had turned out to be a very unsophisticated, American made bug. He then was forced to spend quite a while scanning their room and found many, many others. Now looking around he was questioning how thorough of a job he was actually able to accomplish last night while being so tired.

Having a new mission, Illya loosened his bow tie, tossing it onto his bed as he opened his suitcase and pulled out his scanner. "What are you doing?" Turning, Illya opened his mouth to reply but found it had gone dry. Standing before him in nothing but a towel that was entirely too short for his sanity, was his little German temptation.

"I," he started, but found himself blinking rapidly in a poor attempt to clear his mind. "I was just," holding up the scanner, he pointed to it mindlessly. "Bugs."

Her face contorted in horror as Gaby quickly glanced around the floor. "We have bugs?"

Chuckling dryly, he shook his head. "No." When she just stared at him expectantly, Illya's eyes drifted to her towel again. "We- I should go. I will wait in lobby. Call down when you're ready and I will meet you by the car." Hurrying past her, Illya practically ran from the room.

Glancing around in confusion, Gaby winced as a bright ray of sunlight caught her eye. Groaning, she walked over to the window and pulled the curtain closed. She had to face the bright light and noise soon enough, but she wanted to put it off as long as possible.

* * *

Illya had been friendly and some might say good-humored before, but when he had presented Gaby with a new engagement ring he had shown her a different side of himself. One that was playful and endearing. Previously it was like he was holding back something and now he sat beside her and his posture wasn't rigid and his restful face didn't hold its usual hint of sour. He seemed calm and relaxed.

From her place beside him, Gaby rotated slightly to stare at him. Turning to her, Illya allowed his left arm to fall over the back of her seat. "What has gotten into you?"

"How do you mean?" Illya asked, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"You seem different today," Gaby murmured, eyeing him questioningly.

"Yesterday was different for me," he said, shrugging. "Just because I am KGB does that mean I cannot be more than a spy."

Sighing, Gaby leaned her head back against his arm. "Just when I thought I had you and your mood swings all figured out."

Illya stared back, his eyes scanning her face as he secretly reached out and rubbed a strand of her chocolate locks between his fingers. "Do not despair, dorogaya moya. They will be back."

"Oh?" Gaby smiled.

"My good moods never last long," he said, smirking, "and these kind of parties are never good for my good mood."

Snorting, Gaby rolled her eyes. "You are quintessentially Russian, Illya Kuryakin."

"Thank you." Nodding, Illya turned to gaze out the window at the lavish party their car was approaching.

"I suppose I should warn you. My uncle can be… difficult at times," Gaby said, drawing his attention back to her. When the Russian spy continued to look expectantly at her in silence, she exhaled loudly. "And of course by difficult I mean racist and slightly terrible."

His eyes bright and sharp, Illya's lips pursed in a thin line. "You warn me of this now? Why?"

As the car pulled to a stop outside the party, Gaby slipped on her sunglasses and shrugged. "Because I never thought I was going to like you. Watching my uncle torture you wasn't going to bother me when I didn't like you."

Blinking in momentary confusion, Illya's face broke into a false smile. "I will do my best not to kill him."

Uncle Rudi approached, opening Gaby's door for her as Illya gracefully slid out on his side. "Who is this stunning young woman? It cannot be my only niece, Gaby!"

"Hello Uncle Rudi," she smiled, embracing him and kissing his cheeks.

"Let me get a look at you, you beautiful creature," he breathed, holding her at arms length as Illya came to stand beside her. "Absolutely- Jesus," he breathed, realizing the person next to her was not only her fiancé, but that he was a giant. "You must be Illya," he muttered, his eyes now scanning the Russian as he tried not to squirm under his gaze. "You, sir, are a miracle worker. How did you manage to get her out? I've been trying for years."

Illya shrugged as they began to slow make their way into the event, Gaby's arm laced through her uncles. "My government can be very persuasive."

Nodding, Rudi lead them over to a table of food. "What is it that you do again? Forgive me, Gaby told me but I seem to have forgotten."

"I am an architect," Illya supplied, trying to be as friendly as possible.

"Yes, that was it," Rudi smiled. Illya couldn't help but notice it didn't touch his eyes. "And how is it that a Russian architect and a German auto mechanic meet?"

"I was in town making some repairs and alterations to the wall-" Illya began, but Gaby cut him off.

"When wouldn't you know it, Illya rear ended a tank." Placing her arm in the crook of his affectionately, Gaby decided she would tell this story since Illya had failed to impress the couple at the airport. "He's such a terrible driver," she joked, their eyes meeting and she saw his playful smile.

"Yes, and they took me to the closest place and that is how I met the most amiable, most expensive auto mechanic in all of East Berlin." Illya smiled down at her with genuine affection that made Gaby look away, blushing.

"And did they make you build the wall yourself?" Rudi quipped, chuckling to himself at his joke. When Illya blankly stared back, Rudi glanced at Gaby before looking back to the Russian. "You look like a power lifter, not an architect."

Illya frowned, suppressing the quake in his right hand. "I like to jog."

Rolling his eyes and letting it go for now, Rudi turned to Gaby. "And when was this happy meeting?" Rudi was relentless with his questions, as she knew he would be. His eyes were sharp and he was completely focused on every aspect even though he was trying very hard to come off as conversational.

Illya opened his mouth to speak but Gaby cut him off. "Two years ago."

"Two years?" Rudi spat, shocked. "Two years and you didn't think to write me, to tell me?"

"I wanted to make sure it was serious," Gaby explained, shrugging.

Rudi's eyes narrowed as he surveyed the couple suspiciously. "I wonder… was it because you were ashamed?"

From her place beside him, her arm still linked with his, Gaby felt Illya's body immediately stiffen. "And what would she be ashamed of?" he challenged, taking a half step forward.

Gaby placed her right hand against his chest as both a preventative measure and a warning. Rudi seemed unphased as he casually scooped caviar onto a cracker. "Gaby has aristocratic blood running through her veins and should know better than to muddy the waters." When Illya continued to glare down at the small German man, he venomously stared back, refusing to back down. "She should know that you never mix a thoroughbred race horse with a common cart horse."

Gaby looked away from her uncle to where Illya's hands were shaking sending tremors to his whole body. "Uncle, that's not very nice," she sighed, turning her exasperation to her Uncle Rudi. "Illya isn't-"

"Oh calm yourself, Gaby," Rudi said, trying to appease her. "He is fine and fully capable of speaking up in his own defense. He is a man, isn't he?"

Illya's jaw clenched dangerously hard and his arm dropped Gaby's. "If you'll excuse me," he ground out before turning on his heel and expertly maneuvered his way out of the crowded space.

Gaby shot her uncle a genuinely angry look as he shrugged. "I'm sorry, my darling."

"No you're not." When Rudi gave a small smile, Gaby shook her head. "I know a way you can make it up to me."

* * *

As Gaby approached Alexander Vinciguerra's racecar, she was completely aware of his eyes tracking her every movement. "Can I have a wrench please?" she called over her shoulder, tucking her sunglasses onto the top of her dress. "Would you mind holding my purse?" she asked, Alexi, giving him a flirtatious smile.

"But of course," he purred, his eyes trained on her body.

"Ah, perfect," she breathed, accepting the wrench and passing off her purse to the rich playboy in the driver's seat. Leaning over the engine, she began clanging around, all the while feeling his eyes on her. When she had finished, Gaby stood, handing the tool off to the mechanic. "There. That should do it."

Smiling a toothy grin, Alexi handed her a rag to wipe her hands on. As she cleaned herself up, his eyes roamed her body in her short white and green dress. "And just who are you?"

"This is Rudi's niece Gaby," Victoria called, smiling over at her husband.

"Gaby Teller," she murmured in greeting, holding out her hand for Alexi to shake.

"Alexander Vinciguerra, Alexi to my friends, which I hope you and I will be," he said, his voice oozing charm as he swept up her hand in his, bringing it to his lips. Raising an eyebrow, Gaby slowly retracted her hand as he allowed his lips to linger there. "Hold on a moment. Don't scurry away." Alexi climbed from his car and gestured for Gaby to come stand by it with him. "Your uncle speaks very highly of you, little Gaby Teller."

"Does he now?" Gaby asked, keeping her face neutral. "And what sort of things does my dear uncle say?"

"He said you work in a little auto mechanic's shop in East Berlin." Gaby said nothing as she held his smoldering gaze. "I would hardly believe it given the vision that stands before me, yet my car is fixed by you better than the mechanic I pay very well." Throwing his hands up in the air with a comical expression, the playboy smiled broadly at her. "Beauty and brains; what a combination."

Rolling her eyes, Gaby tapped her sunglasses on his exposed engine. "I didn't do anything special. Perhaps you just need a better mechanic."

"My point exactly," Alexi smirked. "So… are you available?"

There was hidden meaning in his question that made Gaby smirk. "I am engaged and you are married, Mr. Vinciguerra. I would hardly call that available."

"Alexi, please, and I am aware," he hummed, his tongue tracing his teeth like a predator stalking his prey. "I will pay you whatever you ask. Money is no option."

"What if what I want is more than you can offer?" she asked, toying with the man who was eating out of her hand. "What if I want more than you think I'm worth?"

"That is impossible, I promise you." Gaby was slightly put off by the passion in his eyes, but it was also hard to deny his appeal. He was a handsome, rich man who was offering her a lot of money. "Let me take you to dinner. We can discuss the terms of your… surrender."

Laughing quietly, Gaby eyed him suspiciously. "I don't think that would be a very good idea."

"You are positively enchanting," he smiled, sweeping up her left hand in his and bringing it to his mouth to kiss, "but your ring is so small. One could easily mistake you for single," Alexi breathed, tapping Gaby's engagement ring.

Gaby's smile lessened at his words. She was very fond of the ring and its giver was growing her as well. "Speaking of, have you met my fiancé?"

Shaking his head, Alexi pursed his lips and shrugged. "You fiancé is of little consequence to-" he started, but quickly frowned.

Gaby jumped slightly as she felt pressure from a strong hand on her lower back. "Darling," Illya breathed, his face an inch from hers. "We should go."

"What did you say your fiancé does again?" Alexi mumbled to himself, his eyes raking over the giant Russian before him.

"Illya, darling," Gaby said, her face beseeching as his serious eyes bore into hers. "This is Alexander Vinciguerra. Mr. Vinciguerra, this is my fiancé Illya Kuryakin."

"Alexi, please," the Italian playboy said, turning the charm up, wanting to put on a show in front of the man he thought was actually Gaby's fiancé. Illya's face remained dark as he hesitantly reached out to shake Vinciguerra's outstretched hand. When the millionaire tried to size up the Russian, squeezing his hand a bit stronger than necessary, Illya narrowed his eyes slightly and increased his grip tenfold. Hissing under his breath, Alexi released Illya's hand and shook his out at his side. "Quite a strong grip you have there, Mr. Kuryakin," he chuckled uncomfortably.

His jaw quickly clenched and unclenched in anger as he scowled back at the man in front of him. "Not really, no."

From her place beside her fiance, Gaby feigned a one-armed hug and gave Illya's back a little pinch. "Don't be rude, dearest. Remember, we are at his company's party."

"I know that," the Russian breathed, leaning down to put a kiss on his fiancé's cheek, "but we need to go now," he whispered in her ear before leaning back.

"What did you say you do for work?" Alexi asked, narrowing his eyes at the gigantic Russian as he surveyed him closely.

"I didn't say," Kuryakin muttered, his voice sharp. Instead of answering his question Illya gave him a curt nod. "If you'll excuse us, we must be going."

As Alexi outright laughed at his comment, the playboy gestured between Gaby and her fiancé. "Where did you meet this guy, Gaby?"

"East Berlin," she said as Illya began to lead her away. "I'm sorry. It was nice to meet you," she called as Illya spirited her away.

Moving past Victoria, Rudi and Solo, Rudi reached out for his niece. "Where are you going?"

"I'm so sorry uncle, we have to go. Illya is not feeling well," she lied, feeling his grip on her waist increase.

"I'll call you," Rudi yelled, giving her a small wave as Solo, to his left and out of his eye line, winked at her.

As the Russian spy practically dragged her out of the party, Gaby waited until they were outside before she wiggled from his grasp, frowning over at him. "What was that all about?"

Illya loosened his tie, breathing heavily. "You were getting a bit too comfortable with Vinciguerra," he grumbled, signaling for one of the circling cars to pull over. Waving away the driver back to his seat, Illya pulled the back door open and signaled for Gaby to get in. Scoffing she rolled her eyes and entered, her Russian fiancé right behind her.

Turning to face him, Gaby narrowed her eyes at him and watched as he pulled his tie off, tossing it onto the floor of the car. "Illya, are you alright?" When he didn't answer and kept his eyes glued to the driver of the car, Gaby glanced down to see the Russian spy's hands shaking. "Illya," she murmured, reaching out to touch his hand.

As soon as her fingers touched the back of his hand, Illya snatched it away. "Don't touch me, please," he breathed, scooting further away from her. "I just- please don't."

"Fine. I won't touch you, but you have to talk to me," she whispered, her usual strength shining through. Illya took a few deep breaths as the pair just stared at each other. "So do you want to talk about this or-"

"No," he said, shaking his head and turned to look out the window.

* * *

When they had gotten back to the hotel, Illya kept at least two feet of space between himself and Gaby. She would test her hunch and scoot closer just to have him re-adjust and move further away. When they had stepped off of the elevator and Illya had pulled the key to their room from his pocket, Gaby quickly snatched it from his hand and stomped down the hall away from him.

As she unlocked their suite, she felt the Russian spy's eyes on her the entire time. When Gaby pushed the door open, she was unprepared for what she found and came to a screeching halt in the doorway. Not only had everything been replaced from the night before, but it was back in the exact same place it had been in before their fight.

Illya fluidly moved past her into the suite, sliding the camera strap up and over his head. "Did you do this?" Gaby asked, slowly closing the door. "Who am I kidding, of course you did," she quietly breathed, talking to herself as she removed her hat and set it on the table in the entryway. "Are you going to tell me why we had to make such an impromptu exit from the party?"

"Why? Did you need more time with your Nazi boyfriend?" he grumbled, sliding his jacket off and placing it back on its hanger.

"He's not a Nazi," she murmured, rolling her eyes. Illya pausing in his motions looked up at her with incredulity. "Ok, maybe he is but maybe he isn't. You don't know for sure."

It was Illya's turn to roll his eyes as he resumed his path to their closet to hang up his jacket. "He is married," Kuryakin said as he reappeared and crossed the common space to retrieve his camera. Gaby listened with a confused expression as the Russian spy began mumbling to himself in his native tongue.

"Alright then," she whispered, tossing her purse onto one of the chairs in the living room. Swooping down, she grabbed the newspaper from the coffee table and plopped onto the couch, kicking up her feet. She briefly noted that Illya had gone into the bathroom and closed the door behind him, but she had resolved herself to not care.

* * *

It felt like a day had passed. Looking over at the clock, she realized it was just now coming up on an hour. Gaby was content occupying herself at first, but now she was getting annoyed. Illya had entered the bathroom and had yet to come out. Not a word, not a sound. Of course she refused to speak to him first, but Gaby did level the bathroom door with several stern glares.

A brief knock on the door gave her hope, but before she could even acknowledge the knock's owner, Napoleon Solo had the door open and was strutting through it. "Please, don't get up," he said, all suave and charm in his perfectly tailored suit. "Where is your less than better half?" he asked, glancing around the suite.

Gaby nodded towards the bathroom over the section of newspaper she was pretending to still be reading. "He's been in there since we got home."

As if on cue Illya threw the doors to the bathroom open and stepped through into the living room. "Ah, there you are," Solo smirked, leaning against the minibar. "Tell me Peril, what is with you and bathrooms today?"

"What does that mean?" Gaby asked quietly, attempting to only come off as half interested.

"Oh not too much. Just that a man who sounds shockingly like your giant Russian fiancé sent three young Italian noblemen to the hospital today." Crossing his arms over his chest, the American spy smiled with genuine delight at his Russian partner's blunder. "Apparently one of them is a Count. I was busy getting close to Victoria today so I didn't mingle much, but I can't imagine any other 6'5" blonde Russian men sulking around the party, can you?" he asked, directing the question to Gaby but his eyes remained locked on Kuryakin.

Scoffing, Illya turned and headed back into the bathroom but left the door open. "They deserved it," he called.

Gaby shot Napoleon an exasperated look. "You really got the short straw Miss Teller, and for that I would like to apologize to you on behalf of myself and my government," Solo joked, earning a Gaby Teller signature eye roll as she turned her attention back to her paper. "I saw you getting friendly with Alexi," Solo said conversationally as he sat opposite her.

"So what?" Gaby challenged, folding the paper to glance over it at the American spy. "He's a rich, handsome gazillionaire who offered me a job. Why shouldn't I be friendly to him?"

Solo's attention turned back to the bathroom doors as the tall Russia reappeared. "Because he is a Nazi," Illya grumbled, pointing accusatorily at her. "He is the reason we are here, if you remember."

Shrugging, Gaby turned back to her paper. "I quite liked him."

"He's still a Nazi!" Kuryakin called, trudging back into the bathroom.

Animatedly pursing his lips together, Solo stood again and moved to the bar, pouring himself a glass of scotch. "You two are quite the couple aren't you?"

Gaby ignored him completely and Illya shot the American a dirty look as he reappeared with a few developed photos in his hands. "So that's what you've been doing in there. That's a relief," Gaby said to herself more than anyone else.

"Look," Kuryakin said, presenting Solo with the photographs. "I shot these today at the party. It was with special treated film so anything or anyone that has come into contact with radioactive material shows up." As Solo flipped through the shots, Illya pointed out the areas in question on each person; Victoria, Alexi and Rudi's hands were all tainted.

"Huh," Napoleon murmured, stopping on one of Rudi where his hands and forearms lit up red.

Gaby looked expectantly between the pair as they stood in silence, Solo looking at the pictures and Illya looking at Solo. Handing the photos back to Illya, Napoleon gave his shoulder a slap before finishing his drink. "Thank you, Peril. I'll sleep on this." With that, the American turned and left the suite.

"That was odd," Gaby commented, earning Kuryakin's attention again.

"He will sleep on it," the Russian grumbled, stalking back into the bathroom and slamming the door closed behind him.

Gaby stared at the closed double doors in aggravation.

* * *

Finally Illya had relinquished the bathroom and Gaby helped herself to a shower. When she came out, her Russian fiancé was gone and she was alone in the suite. This time when she scrolled through the room service menu, she did call down and order a few things. If she wasn't allowed to leave and she was being forced to spend mealtime alone, Illya or rather his government would be buying her a nice meal.

By the time Illya came back it had been dark for some time and Gaby had finished her dinner even longer ago. She silently watched the Russian pace through the room towards their bedroom from her place on the couch, a book in her lap. Illya opened his suitcase and pulled something out, tucking it into the back of the waistband of his pants before pulling his jacket over top of it. He even pulled on his hat as he began trudging towards the door.

"You're going out… now?" Gaby asked, halting his movement.

Stopping, Illya looked down at where his fiancé sat on the couch, already in her pajamas. "Yes."

"Yes," Gaby repeated, her voice betraying her annoyance. "At this hour? To do what?"

Sighing, Illya eyed Gaby closely, his features and mood seemingly lightened. "If you must know, I am going to look into the Vinciguerra warehouse to see what I can find."

"And by look into you mean-"

"Break in, yes."

Gaby sighed, pursing her lips. "Alone?"

"Who else would there be?" Illya asked, his face scrunching in confusion as if backup would be preposterous.

Rolling her eyes and standing, Gaby approached him. "Solo. Do you think it's safe to go alone?" While she was trying her best not to appear overly interested, Gaby was failing.

A small smile twitched at the corner of the Russian's lips as he looked down at her. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, he shook his head. "Believe it or not this is not my first mission. There is no need to worry for me."

"I don't," Gaby hissed, playing it off. "I'm not."

The pair stared at each other for a few moments before Illya cleared his throat. "Well, I should be going."

"Go ahead," Gaby said, her arms crossing her chest as she shrugged.

"Right," the Russian spy nodded, moving past her towards the door.

"Illya?" Gaby called, causing him to halt in his movements halfway out the door. Peaking his head back around the door, he eyed her expectantly. "Be careful."

"Of course," he promised, closing the door behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything associated with these story, Man from Uncle or these characters. I am not making any money from this story. It is purely being written for my own enjoyment.

 **Author's Note:** Chapter four! The longest chapter of this story. Almost 9000 words. Thanks to everyone who read and a special thanks to everyone who reviewed. So I've decided to make this two separate stories. This story that takes place during the movie will be its own story and I will post the sequel separately. Since I've decided to do that, I now know that this story will be 5 chapters total. I'm editing the fifth now, so I would expect it to be up within the next handful of days.

As always, I don't have a beta so any errors you find, I do apologize. I try to catch them through several rounds of edits but alas, some always slip through the cracks. Thank you for reading and please feel free to drop me a line via comments or p.m.  
Happy reading,  
-SB

* * *

Gaby knew she shouldn't worry, that waiting up was stupid and showed she cared more than she wanted, but she couldn't help it. Part of her had become very attached and even- dare she say or think it- fond of her fake Russian fiancé. He was sweet and kind underneath his serious and rather scary exterior and clearly had his own set of emotional baggage she could relate to. However his obviously ran much deeper than hers.

She kept trying to find things to do to keep her mind busy, to make the time pass more quickly, but Gaby couldn't concentrate to save her life. It was like the harder she tried to distract herself from watching the clock the slower time seemed to go.

The phone ringing caused her to jump, snapping her out of her revere. Practically jumping to grab the receiver, Gaby listened carefully. "Hello?"

"Gaby, it's your Uncle Rudi."

Holding the phone away from her ear, Gaby gave it a strange look. "Uncle Rudi, how are you?" she asked, secretly wanting to ask why he was calling, especially so late.

"I'm well my darling. I'm well." Gaby would never say she particularly liked her Uncle Rudi, but he was really the only family she had left. She supposed family was family and her Uncle Rudi had remained in contact with her when she was growing up even after her father left. "I'm sorry to be calling so late, but I was just thinking over today and how I upset your fiancé. I'd like to apologize myself, if you don't mind."

Gaby felt her stomach drop. Two things became abundantly clear in that moment. Her uncle was clearly in on the nuclear bomb the Vincinguerra's were trying to build and he suspected Illya was something more than her fiancé the architect. "I'm so sorry uncle, but he's already asleep. It is late and he wasn't feeling well," she said, trying to sound as genuine in her excuse as possible as she stared at Illya's empty bed beside her.

There was a long pause from her uncle's side of the phone before he audibly sighed. "Well that is a shame. Do pass along my regards to him, won't you?"

"Of course," Gaby said, her frown deepening.

"Gaby darling, do you think your fiancé would mind terribly if I borrow you tomorrow for lunch?"

Glancing back to Illya's empty bed, Gaby swallowed. "No, I'm sure he can occupy himself for the afternoon."

"Excellent," Rudi breathed. "I'll pick you up at noon."

"Good night uncle." With a click, Gaby was suddenly left feeling very alone. Perhaps it was her nerves getting the better of her or maybe Gaby finally understood the gravity of the situation she was in, but things were getting very serious very quickly. Hanging up, Gaby sat cross-legged on her bed staring at the door to her suite wishing Illya would walk through it.

She waited for a minute or two before picking up the phone and calling down to the desk, knowing which room she needed. It only rang once before Waverly picked up, not saying a word. "The meeting is set. Tomorrow at noon; lunch with my Uncle Rudi."

Waverly knew Gaby enough to recognize something in her voice, something that she wasn't saying. "Is that all?" he asked. Glancing towards Illya's empty bed again, Gaby felt the familiar pang of guilt in her stomach. "Does he know about Kuryakin?" Waverly guessed.

"I don't think he knows for sure, but he suspects something," Gaby murmured, picking at the hem of her pajama pants.

"Well then, you know what you have to do." Another click.

Sighing, Gaby set down her receiver and moved the phone back to the nightstand. While she was recruited by the English to help them should anyone arrive asking questions about her father, she wasn't a spy. At least not one like Kuryakin or Solo. Then again she seriously doubted anyone was like them.

Gaby was treading water and she knew it. Now she just had to hope that her acting skills were enough to keep her safe, or at the very least get her far enough along to stop the bomb. Even if she couldn't save herself, lots of people were in danger.

* * *

About half an hour later, the door to their room burst open and the Russian spy came running in, breathing heavily. "Illya?" Gaby asked, sitting up from her place on her bed as he charged towards her.

"Where is it?" he said, mostly to himself than anyone as he threw the covers up, looking under her bed.

"Where is what?"

"My case!" Illya hissed, spinning and looking under his bed. "Ah!" he hissed, mumbling to himself in Russian as he opened it and pulled out a device.

"What's going-"

"Shh," Illya whispered, holding a finger up to his lips as he padded into the living room, pulling out an antenna and adjusting the dials.

Following him, Gaby stopped in the threshold when there was a loud noise from the room above, causing her to jump. The noise seemed to only spur Illya on as he increased his movements. Whatever he had must've been a listening device because voices could be heard coming out of the speaker. The signal wasn't very clear, so Gaby took another step forward.

A muffled moan from the speaker and another loud bang from the room above was all Gaby needed to hear. Rolling her eyes, she crossed her arms over her chest in aggravation. Poor Illya hadn't caught on yet, still messing with the nobs to get better reception. By the third throaty moan and whatever caused their chandelier to shake, Illya's face of concentration fell to one of understanding and embarrassment. Closing the space between them, Gaby placed a hand on her Russian's bicep as he retracted the antenna. "I don't think he needs your help."

"Yes, thank you," Illya murmured, sighing.

It was in the sigh that Gaby saw his body crumble, revealing just how exhausted he was. "Illya, are you alright?" Being closer to him now as well had allowed Gaby to smell the ocean on him. Frowning, she reached up and pushed back the usually well-controlled blonde hair that had now fallen onto his forehead. "What happened to your hat and why are you damp?"

He closed his eyes briefly, relishing in her soft, gentle touch before reaching out and capturing her hand in his much larger one. "There was a bit of an incident at the factory. We-"

"Hold on," Gaby said, silencing him as she moved across the living room to close their suite's door that Kuryakin had previously not bothered with upon entering. "Ok, go ahead."

Giving her a thankful look, Illya collapsed onto the couch. "I ran into Cowboy before either of us got inside, so we decided to work alone… together. We searched whole factory and found nothing, but I find an entrance to hidden lower level with a little luck." Gaby sat down next to him and listened as he sat rubbing his eyes, his head leaning back. "We find a giant vault and Cowboy gets to act superior, lecturing while he makes me hold tools. He forgets to disarm the alarm because- according to him- this type of safe has no alarm. We get pinned down in the factory and have to make a speedy exit and end up in a boat. I drive and try to find a way out, but they close all gates before I can get to them. Meanwhile, Solo has bailed leaving me to be shot at. Eventually my boat catches fire, exploding."

"Oh my god," Gaby breathed, her face falling.

"I am knocked both unconscious and into water, apparently," the Russian spy said animatedly, sighing heavily again. Removing his hand from his eyes, he adjusted himself on the couch to face her, his leg coming up and resting beside hers. "Obviously I do not know exactly how, but Cowboy took out the guards and managed to pull me from the bottom of the port."

Letting her hand slide from her leg to his knee, Gaby gave it a gentle squeeze. "It was good you weren't alone after all." She was trying to not sound judgmental, but there was still a slight edge in her voice.

Illya leveled her with a salty expression. "Yes and no."

"I fail to see how you being alive could be considered a bad thing," she countered, refusing to look away from his sharp eyes.

Exhaling loudly, the Russian nodded, his right hand coming to rest atop his leg dangerously close to hers. "When you say it like that it sounds so simple."

"It is that simple," Gaby challenged.

"It is not," he contested, a small smirk on his lips. "This means I am indebted to that Cowboy and his fancy suits."

Rolling her eyes, Gaby chuckled dryly. "Is this some sort of Russian thing?"

Shaking his head lightly, Illya tapped his fingers on his leg. "No, it is a Kuryakin sort of thing."

"Regardless, I'm happy you're not dead." Gaby's eyes shifted between his tapping fingers and where the Russian now stared at them, seemingly transfixed. Sliding her hand down to cover his, she killed two birds with one stone; she had calmed him down and earned his attention, pulling him back to the present. "My uncle called while you were gone."

Gaby felt Illya tense at mention of her uncle, but she laced their fingers together and with that simple action she felt him begin to relax once more. "What did he want?" Illya asked, his thumb, seemingly of its own accord, began tracing circles into the back of her hand.

"Well, initially he wanted to talk to you," she said, shrugging. Illya's eyes narrowed slightly at this news, but Gaby continued. "He said he had been thinking about what he said at the party this afternoon and how it had upset you. Uncle Rudi wanted to personally apologize."

Illya's eye twitched once at her words as he appeared to ponder them. "Do you believe him?" he asked, his eyes scanning her face.

It was now her turn to sigh as she thought about the question. "No," Gaby murmured after some time, deciding to be truthful as much as she could. She wanted to tell Illya everything, to share her secrets with him, but Gaby knew she couldn't. Not only would it jeopardize both their lives, but it could ruin their mission. "I told him you were asleep already and he asked me to lunch tomorrow."

"Just you?" Kuryakin asked, his face eerily blank.

"Yes," Gaby said, squirming under his intense gaze. "He's picking me up at noon."

The Russian spy mulled over this news as he moved his gaze to a random inanimate object in the next room. Gaby followed his eye line and couldn't decide what he was staring at. Finally he looked back to her, shaking his head. "No. I do not think that is good idea."

"Why not?" Gaby asked, feeling defensive.

"Because." It was a one-word answer meant to shut her down, but Gaby's face hardened, causing Illya to defend his position. "He is working for your Nazi boyfriend and his Nazi wife. We do not yet know the extent of his involvement and-"

"And what?" Gaby grumbled, sliding her hand from his quickly.

Illya glanced down at where his hand now sat atop his leg alone and frowned. "And it is too dangerous. I don't trust-"

"Me?" she supplied, irritated. "You don't think I can go to lunch with my uncle and manage to not ruin your little spy operation?"

"That's not what I was going to say," he sighed, seemingly very tired again. "Why do you keep interrupting me?"

Standing, Gaby began pacing the living room as the Russian watched her from the couch. "What do you think is going to happen?"

Shrugging, he rotated to face her. "I do not know, but I do know I do not want you going anywhere alone with that man."

Scoffing, Gaby felt her nerves turning into bundles. She was already nervous enough about her lunch tomorrow and Illya having a bad feeling about it was definitely not helping. Not to mention her overwhelming desire to spill her guts to her Russian fiancé. She decided that the conversation needed to end before it went much further. "I'm going to bed," Gaby announced, marching into the bedroom.

As she pulled the covers back, Gaby was aware that Illya had followed her. Turning, she glared at where he stood in the wide doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms folded across his chest. "You are angry with me again."

"Of course I am," she breathed, staring back.

"Why?"

Sighing, she threw her hands up in the air in frustration. "Because you are telling me what to do." That was a very truthful statement. At least she could focus on the fact she was irritated.

"I do not mean it to be that way," Illya said, trying to rationalize his words. "Well, I do, but I…" exhaling loudly, his arms fell to his side as he approached her, craning his neck down, his eyes softening the longer he held her gaze. "I am trying to protect you and the only way I know how is to keep you close."

Gazing up at him, Gaby felt her frustration towards the giant Russian giant dissipating. "Is there another reason you'd want to keep me close?" she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not." The corner of his lip elevated slightly as he reached out and gently caressed her cheek. "I do not trust him with you, him or any of his Nazi friends." It was like an unknown force was pulling them together, their lips gravitating towards each other. Illya blinked slowly, his eyelids feeling heavy as he hovered above her lips. "You must know I- that you are very important."

"To the mission?" Gaby said, her breathing heavy as her eyes drifted from his to his lips.

Giving a small shake of his head, Illya's hands came up to frame her face as he swallowed hard. "No-well, yes," he said, his mind fogging up. "To the mission, of course."

Gaby's hands slid up his chest as Illya leaned forward to close the distance between them but another loud bang from above shook the chandelier so violently that Gaby jumped, their foreheads banging together.

"Ow," Gaby moaned, rubbing her forehead as she smiled sheepishly up at the Russian. "Sorry."

"No, I am sorry," he apologized, taking a step back and self-consciously shoving his hands into his pockets. "Perhaps that was for the best," Illya said, more to himself than her. When Gaby's face fell in visible offense, Illya frowned, mentally kicking himself. "Gaby, I didn't-"

"No, you're right." Shutting him down, Gaby got into her bed and pulled her covers up, turning over so her back was to him. "Please turn the light off." Gaby heard him sigh as he padded over to the switch, clicking the light off in their room before heading for the bathroom.

* * *

Illya did not sleep well. Perhaps it was because he had almost died that night before or maybe it was his almost kiss and argument with Gaby. He ended up awake long before his alarm. He had gotten in a long run, shower and now he sat on his bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands steepled in front of his face as he watched Gaby sleep peacefully in the bed across from him.

He had been through some very difficult things, had his body and mind broken and pieced back together again. Illya knew he was far from a good man, but he tried to live his life with the most integrity he could given his circumstances. Now he was faced with one of the biggest decisions of his life to date. He was on the most important mission of his career and yet he found himself falling in love with the girl he was supposed to be protecting. An asset.

She was supposed to be going to lunch with her Uncle Rudi who was, undoubtedly untrustworthy and all around very bad man. He had two large problems with it. Not only was she his charge and he was supposed to be taking care of her as part of his assigned duties, but as a man who cared for her, Illya couldn't make peace with her going alone. Then there was the larger part of his mission that meant finding the nuclear material. He knew his superiors would tell him to let Gaby go with her uncle, that finding the bomb and Dr. Teller were the most important things, but he was starting to question the order of his priorities.

The phone at their bedside table rang and Illya quickly grabbed it, not wanting the ringing to wake Gaby. "Hello?" he grumbled into the receiver.

"You sound quite chipper Peril. Did you not sleep well?"

Illya rolled his eyes and set his jaw in a firm line as he glared at his feet. "I would ask how you slept, but your lack of sleep gave me nightmares."

From his end of the phone, Napoleon Solo snorted out a laugh. "You'd think a little near death experience would've tuckered you out."

"You'd think," the Russian ground out, his eyes sliding to where Gaby slept a few feet away. "What do you want, Cowboy?"

"Testy," Solo chuckled. "Fine, I'll cut to the chase. Do you know if Gaby's dear Uncle Rudi ever called her yesterday?"

"Why do you ask?" Illya murmured, his eyes narrowing at the question.

"I just assumed he would. His only niece is in town for a short vacation with her abnormally large, violent Russian fiancé." There was a short pause from Solo's end as he took a bite of his breakfast. "Doesn't he want to see her and get to know you better?"

"I do not think he cares to see me again, no." Staring down at his fingernails. Illya began to pick at his cuticles; it was just another bad habit he developed whenever someone spoke of a subject in his personal life that made him uncomfortable.

"Did you accost him in a restroom too?"

Trying not to let Solo's constant little digs get to him, Illya took a deep breath before continuing. "I was on my best behavior with Uncle Rudi but he was less than thrilled with my below average, dirty Russian blood."

"Yikes," Solo murmured quietly as Illya made out the crunching of him taking a bite of toast. "That's a tough pill to swallow. Then again, he is a Nazi." Illya hadn't really thought of that before. He had been so offended by Rudi's unpleasant reception of him that he had not stopped to think about it rationally. He had been looking at it from an irrational angle; Gaby's uncle didn't like him. It was irrational that he would be offended by not getting the approval of his fake fiancé's family, especially since her family was dealing in illegal nuclear arms. Sighing, the Russian held the receiver away from his head as his hands began to shake. This is what happens when he let his emotions cloud his judgment. He missed simple details because and allowed himself to get upset. "You still there Peril?"

"Yes, I am here," he breathed, bringing to receiver back to rest against the left side of his face. "To answer your question, yes, Rudi called. Last night while we were at the factory."

"Excellent. Do you know what he said?"

His fingers wildly tapping against the handle of the phone and his leg, Illya closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep, calming breath. "He would like to take Gaby to lunch today."

"Ok," Solo said, taking another bite of toast. "What's the problem?"

"I do not trust him," Illya grumbled, rubbing the stubble that was forming on his chin.

"So put a tracker on Gaby if you're so worried, that way you can keep tabs on her." Illya froze, blinking as he stared over at Gaby's sleeping form. "I have one you can use if you'd like," Solo offered.

"No," Illya said, shaking his head. "I will get my own."

"I think we should touch base before we split up. What time is Rudi coming to get her?"

"Noon," Illya murmured, looking down at his watch. It was now quarter to ten.

"Excellent. Come up around 11:30."

"Fine." With a click, Illya hung up the phone and stood. He had a lot of work to do before 11:30.

* * *

When Kuryakin returned to the hotel suite he was sharing with Gaby, she was dressed and ready for the day, sitting on the couch reading the same book she had been since they arrived. "You look nice," he greeted quietly, closing the door behind him.

Raising an eyebrow, Gaby pursed her lips together as she watched the Russian spy slowly approach her and sit on the couch opposite her, setting a small brown paper bag down on the coffee table. "Have you eaten?" he asked, nodding towards the room service cart.

Illya did his best not to wince when Gaby closed her book loudly, setting it on the chair beside her. "No, I am saving room for lunch. That is if you are allowing me to go."

Shaking his head lightly, Illya frowned. "Please don't be like this."

"Like what?" Gaby asked, feigning ignorance.

Choosing to ignore her and attempting to avoid another argument, Illya picked up the bag and set it down directly in front of her. "This is for you." He sat back on the couch, waiting for her to open it. "Please don't argue and just do as I ask."

Sitting up, Gaby opened the bag and looked up at him blankly. "What is wrong with you?" she asked, pulling out the bag's contents and holding it up.

Illya couldn't help it when a mischievous smile spread across his face. "It is not like that."

"It's a garter, Illya," she said, not amused by his playful attitude given the suggestive nature of his gift. Leaning forward again, he held out a small white, plastic box. "And what is this now?" Gaby asked, taking it from him and holding it up to inspect.

"It is a tracking device," he explained, pointing to it. "The garter is for you to hide it on your person so that I may keep track of you on your outing."

Gaby sighed as her hand closed on both items. "If you insist."

"I do," Kuryakin murmured, nodding. "Finish getting ready and meet me upstairs in Cowboy's room." With that he stood and exited the suite.

* * *

Not bothering to knock, Illya entered Solo's suite, slamming the door closed behind him. "I do not like this," he grumbled, marching into the living room, his arms crossing his chest.

From his place sitting at his desk, Solo looked worse for the wear as he rubbed his forehead. "I'm sorry to hear that Peril, but unfortunately it is what has to happen."

Looking away from the American, Illya glared out onto Solo's patio. "It is like leading lamb to slaughter."

The American spy studied the Russian's posture and his facial expression coming to a conclusion that shocked him. His eyebrows rose comically as he chuckled quietly, earning the Russian's attention again. "You must be joking."

"What?" Illya hissed, his face turning murderous at Solo's laughter being directed at him.

"Mr. Russian KGB Super Spy has fallen for his charge."

It was work, but Kuryakin kept his face in its current state of anger, not revealing anything. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Putting his pen down, Solo rotated in his seat and kicked his legs out in front of himself leisurely. "Oh yes you do. You have developed feelings for our little Gaby Teller, haven't you?" Solo accused, pointing at the Russian who squirmed under his gaze.

Illya looked away momentarily before turning back to his American partner. "I am not discussing this topic with you."

"Oh wow," Solo laughed outright this time, clapping his hands together in front of him. "This is… wow. Good job Kuryakin."

"Shut up," the Russian hissed. Deciding they needed to have a different topic of discussion, Illya nodded his head towards Solo and crossed his arms again. "You look like shit. Sleep well?"

Rolling his eyes, Napoleon shrugged. "Not particularly, no."

"Do you think she bought it?" Kuryakin asked, referring to Solo's performance with Victoria Vinciguerra.

Sighing, Solo shrugged again. "I don't know, but believe me when I say that I gave it everything I had."

This caused the Russian to smirk. "You are very loud, just like your suits. I'm surprised the room is still intact."

"That's funny you should say that. While we're speaking of room damage, a little bird told me an adorable young Russian and German couple destroyed their hotel suite during- and this is just speculation from a maid who overheard the ruckus- an act of passion. Sound like anyone you know?"

Illya narrowed his eyes accusatorily at the American. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Pursing his lips, Solo refused to look away. "Of course not."

"I-" Illya began, but stopped when Gaby opened the door to Solo's room. Looking away from where she was approaching, Kuryakin shot Solo a warning glare that only caused the American spy to laugh quietly to himself.

"Good morning Gaby darling," Napoleon greeted, giving the Russian spy a comical look when she ignored him completely, tossing her purse angrily down on his couch. "Rough night?"

Her eyes shifted to the American's with resentment. "Yes, but not as rough as you by the sound of things."

From his place behind her, Illya snorted out a laugh himself. Not bothered by her quips, Solo smirked. "Touche." Gesturing to her, Napoleon leaned back in his chair. "Is your tracker switched on? I'm' not picking up a signal."

"I think so," Gaby said, surprising both agents when she jumped onto Solo's coffee table and hiked up her skirt. "Would you like to check?"

Solo gestured to Illya who was staring blankly at Gaby Teller's exposed thigh. "Care to do the honors Peril?"

His eyes snapped away from Gaby's leg to where Napoleon sat smirking. "I don't- it is your device, Solo. You should check it." On such short notice, his government couldn't come up with a reliable tracker for him, so Illya reluctantly had to take Solo up on his offer to borrow one.

"I'm not going to be using it, so you might as well familiarize yourself with it," Solo said, double meaning hanging between them. Standing, Napoleon gave the Russian a wide grin. "I'm just going to step outside for a moment. If you'll excuse me."

Once the American had exited to the patio, Illya nervously fidgeted from one foot to the other. Turning and eyeing him expectantly, Gaby pointed to the tracker. "Right, sorry," Illya apologized, rubbing his hands together as he approached. Clearing his throat, Illya gently placed his hands on her leg. Gaby groaned, jumping at his touch. "Sorry," Illya apologized quietly, his hands hovering over her leg.

"Your hands are still cold," Gaby complained, trying to ignore how his strong hands felt against her skin. When the Russian began feeling around for the switch, not wanting to look, Gaby smiled at his chivalry. "What are you doing down there?" she teased, earning a smirk from him.

"Trying not to get lost," he murmured, looking up at her. "There," he said, finding the switch that was off and switching it on with a click. As he stood there, his hands on her thigh and their eyes locked, it occurred to Illya that something was wrong. "You're trembling," he breathed, his face falling.

"That's because I'm scared," Gaby admitted, her eyes betraying her nerves as well.

Illya felt even more guilt for allowing her to go, but Solo was right. The mission demanded it and she had to go. "It's going to be ok."

"How can you be so sure?" Gaby murmured, swallowing the lump in her throat.

"I will be close by," he promised, their faces so close together he swore he was breathing in her breath.

"Everyone all good and turned on now?" Solo smirked, announcing his return as they jumped apart. Gaby looked away as Illya glared at his American counterpart. "Excellent. Ready to go Gabs? Uncle Rudi's car just pulled up out front."

Gaby nodded as Illya offered her hand and got down off the table. "Wish me luck," Gaby breathed, shouldering her purse.

"Have a nice lunch!" Solo called, earning another scowl from the Russian who turned and jogged after his German fiancé.

"Gaby!" he called, stepping out in the hallway after her. Gaby stopped and turned facing him as he approached, his hand reaching out and grabbing hers. "Are you going to be alright?"

Giving his hand a small squeeze, Gaby felt all the pressure of this upcoming lunch mounting. She stared back into his blue eyes, silently willing him to understand all of the things she hadn't told him, all the things she couldn't tell him. "Of course I will. You'll be close by."

Giving her a small smile, Illya leaned down and placed a lingering kiss on her cheek. "Take care of yourself, little Teller. I will see you soon."

Sighing, Gaby gave his hand another quick squeeze before turning and heading for the elevator, not allowing herself to look back.

* * *

"You kiss her yet?" Solo asked from his place back at his desk, cleaning under his fingernails absentmindedly as Illya entered, closing the door quietly behind him.

Ignoring the American's question, Illya sat down on the couch facing him. "What is your plan?"

"I have a meeting scheduled with Victoria in-" Solo looked down at his watch "-45 minutes."

"What about?" Illya asked.

Shrugging, Napoleon stood and walked into the living room and sat down opposite the Russian. "I have volunteered, out of the goodness of my heart, to go through the Vinciguerra collection and track down and acquire anything she may want. What are you going to do with your afternoon?"

"Are you serious?" Kuryakin grumbled, his face wrinkling in disbelief.

"You're sincerely going to follow her on her lunch date with her uncle?" Solo asked, his eyebrows rising. "It's lunch. What harm ever came from going to lunch?"

Rolling his eyes, Illya grabbed a box from his pocket and pulled the antenna out. "That sounds like famous last words, Cowboy," he grumbled switching it on and working at the frequency.

"What are you doing?" Napoleon asked, sitting up and watching Illya closely.

Illya worked on the tuning until it came in relatively clear and the pair began listening to Gaby and Rudi. "It's so good to see you my darling. I trust you are well?"

Illya could hear Gaby's tension in her voice. "I am, and yourself?"

"Wonderful dear," Rudi breathed. "And that sordid fiancé of yours?"

Kuryakin's jaw clenched in anger. "He is not-" Gaby started but stopped, her anger evident. "Perhaps this lunch was not a good idea."

"Oh relax my love," Rudi purred. "You're being too sensitive."

"Too sensitive?" Gaby hissed. "He is my fiancé and you insult him at every opportunity. Illya was very upset yesterday and rightfully so."

Rudi snorted out a laugh. "You cannot expect me to rejoice in your decision to disregard your heritage, your bloodline. I can only hope you don't plan to reproduce with that beast."

"You have no right," Gaby scoffed, causing Illya to crack a smile. He could picture her rolling her eyes defiantly like she had done to him so many times before.

"He is a filthy Russian, Gabriella! Anyone can look at him and see he was bred for menial labor!" Rudi yelled, losing his temper. "What would our family think? Your grandparents are turning over in their graves."

"Damn, he really does hate you," Solo breathed. There was a long pause that worried Illya greatly. He and Solo exchanged a worried look and just as Illya reached to try to adjust the frequency to try and find them again, Gaby spoke.

"I'd like to go back to the hotel now."

"Gaby, please-"

"If you cannot refrain from insulting Illya just do not speak of him at all. He is a good man and I will not have you speak about him like that."

A small smile of pride slid onto his face at her words. "At least you know she likes you back," Solo spoke up.

"Apparently a man who looks startlingly like your sweet, innocent Illya was involved in an altercation yesterday," Rudi said, ignoring her. "Isn't that odd?" Rudi's question made Illya's frown return. When Gaby didn't answer, Rudi moved on. "I hope you don't mind, but we won't be going to a restaurant for lunch."

"Where are we going?" Gaby asked, her voice hesitant.

"Alexi invited me to his house for lunch. Obviously since I already had plans with you I told him as such, but he was very taken with you yesterday and insisted we both come."

Illya's eyes shot up to meet Solos and he was already standing. "Good luck with your meeting," he breathed, turning and leaving to follow Rudi's car.

* * *

It broke Gaby's heart to allow Illya to think she had betrayed him, but she had to say something so he would know before they discovered him on the grounds where she knew he would be. If she lived through this, she would beg his forgiveness, but she had to know he'd be safe.

Now she sat on a chair in one of the Vinciguerra's large living room waiting for Alexander Vinciguerra to take her to her father. Rudi had left some time ago to go 'run an errand' and promised he would see her soon. After she exposed Solo and Kuryakin, it was explained to Gaby that her father had already all but built them their bomb, but that recently he had grown a conscience and refused to continue. Gaby was going to be incentive for him to finish his work.

"Alright, ready to go?" Alexi appeared in the doorway, clapping his hands together in front of him.

"Of course," Gaby breathed, standing and smoothing out her skirt. She was in even more over her head than she had previously thought.

As she moved past Alexi, his hand found its way to the small of her back as he lead her through the house. It gave Gaby goosebumps, and not the good kind. "You know, I knew you couldn't be with someone like that Russian Neanderthal." Gaby tensed briefly at his words but forced herself to relax and remember she was playing a part now, the part of a traitor. "Maybe after your father works out his problem, you and I can get that dinner, discuss your… employment with Vinciguerra Shipping."

Swallowing hard, Gaby did her best to smile. "That would be nice."

"I'll arrange it," Alexi smiled, opening the doors and gesturing to a waiting helicopter. "Shall we?"

* * *

As Illya drove his stolen truck down the country road away from the Vinciguerra estate, he couldn't help but feel the overpowering urge to be sick. Gaby had betrayed him, used him. How could he not have seen it? He was a spy. Lying came with the job. It was a part of his job and a little girl from East Berlin pulled the wool over his eyes completely. He never suspected a thing.

Illya's anger was beginning to overcome him, his hands shaking violently. Wrenching the wheel to the side, he pulled his vehicle over and put it into park, slamming his hands down on the steering wheel repeatedly. He let out a string of Russian profanities as he glared down at his shaking, traitorous hands. Now they betrayed him just like Gaby had. He sat quietly for a moment, his breathing labored as his mind quickly jumped between possible courses of action. He needed to get to the bomb. He had to stop it.

The Russian was about to put his car into drive again but had a thought. Gaby hadn't just betrayed him, but Solo as well. Solo had been at a meeting with Victoria Vinciguerra, which surely meant he had been captured. Frowning, Illya sighed.

Pulling out his tracker for the American, Illya turned it on and put his car into drive.

* * *

"I never thought I'd ever say this, but I am actually happy to see you."

From his place behind Rudi, Illya glared down at the man. "You doing ok Cowboy?" he asked, his stormy grey eyes boring into the man who had previously insulted him so.

"You know, I could use a hand, Peril," Solo breathed, looking exhausted.

Rudi moved to stand, undoubtedly to slip away, but Illya slapped his hand roughly down onto the older man's shoulder, shoving him back into his chair. "No, no, Uncle Rudi. You stay. I think you and I should have words."

After he had freed Solo from the chair, they worked together in putting Rudi in his place. Illya tightened the straps more than necessary, but he didn't care. This man was a disgusting Nazi who had insulted him, played a hand in getting a nuclear bomb for terrorists, and now that Napoleon had filled him in, apparently Illya could add serial killer and torture enthusiast to his list.

As soon as Illya had finished with the strap on Rudi's right arm, he stepped down on the pedal, electrocuting him. Solo shot him a warning look as he held his hands up away from their prisoner. "Do you mind?"

"No, not at all," Illya grumbled, hitting the pedal again.

"I was rather hoping I would get to do that part," Solo said, coming to stand beside him. Illya eyed the man with disgust before turning to his American partner. "It was just as much of a shock to me." When Kuryakin didn't acknowledge him, Napoleon laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "She betrayed me too, Peril."

"It was not the same." Slamming his foot down on the pedal again, all three men seemed shocked when nothing happened. Shooting Solo a sideways glance, Illya hit it again several times, all achieving nothing. "What is it doing?"

Shrugging, Solo shoved his hands into his pockets casually. "Apparently there's a glitch."

His mouth set in a firm, determined line and Illya nodded. "I will fix it."

As the Russian set his mind to finding the problem with the wiring, Rudi began to plead for his life. "You know, I really didn't think that poorly of you," he said, attempting to look down at the Russian who was inspecting wires beside him, but unable to due to the belt holding his head in place. "I had to dislike you on principle when I thought you were engaged to my niece. I'm sure you can understand that."

"You can keep your niece," Illya spat in anger, instantly feeling guilt for thinking and speaking ill of Gaby. Shoving down that reflex, he frowned. "She is of no consequence to me," he added, trying to harden his heart to her.

"Listen, I will give you whatever you want," Rudi squeaked, squirming in his seat. "I'll inform on anyone, I don't even have to know them!"

"Have they succeeded in enriching the uranium?" the American questioned, coming to stand in front of Rudi.

The man let out a deranged chuckle, shaking his head. "Oh we are far beyond that, Mr. Solo. There's already a bomb."

At his words, the spies shared a look of concern. "Peril, can I see you outside for a moment," Napoleon crooned, gesturing to the hallway and turning on his heel, heading out of the room.

Stepping out into the hallway behind him, Illya's arms crossed his chest. "What?"

"I know you're upset-"

"I am not upset," the Russian hissed.

"-but we have to focus. Somewhere out there is a nuclear bomb and we cannot allow it to fall into the wrong hands."

"So what do you purpose we do?" Kuryakin asked, gesturing his head towards the room they had left Rudi in.

"We could torture him," Solo mumbled, visibly playing with the idea, "but as much as it would make me feel better, it will get us nowhere."

"We could kill him," Illya suggested.

Solo shook his head. "No. Again, personally I love the idea, but I doubt our governments would. He's much more valuable alive. A guy like that will turn over in a heartbeat. He'll squeal, get a shortened sentence and be out in a year or two." From beside him, the KGB agent scoffed in disgust. "I know, I hate it too, but unfortunately you know I'm right and the potential information he has is worth it."

"Just because it is what will happen does not mean it should be so," Illya murmured unhappily. "So we don't kill him. Fine. What do we do about the bomb?"

"We could…" Napoleon started but paused, his head tilting to the side in thought as his nose scrunched. "Do you smell that?"

Both men slowly turned and saw Rudi flailing about, still strapped to the chair, only he was on fire. "Huh," Illya murmured, his arms dropping to his sides. "He fixed the glitch," he commented absentmindedly, seemingly completely unbothered by the turn of events.

"Damn," Solo grumbled, earning a perplexed look from his Russian partner. When Napoleon took in his look of confusion, he frowned. "I left my jacket in there," he explained, earning a nod of solidarity.

* * *

As Gaby sat in her small, cold, damp cell waiting for one of the Vinciguerra thugs to put a bullet between her eyes, she couldn't help but feel regret. Regret she betrayed Napoleon and Illya. Regret that she never got to actually kiss her fake Russian fiancé. Regret that she hadn't been able to sabotage the warhead and help save lives. She was going to die today and her heart would be full of sadness.

A loud noise that sounded slightly like an explosion caused her to jump. Glancing up at the ceiling, she wondered what it could be. Not but a minute later Alexander Vinciguerra appeared at the door to her cell, gun in hand, gesturing for her to stand. "Get up," he said, glancing over his shoulder. When Gaby didn't move, his face twisted in anger. "Get up!" he ordered, roughly grabbing Gaby and pulling her to her feet.

"What's happening? Where is my father?" she questioned, struggling against his tight grip.

"Your traitor of a father got a bullet between his eyes," he hissed, practically dragging her through the compound as she fought against him. "You're lucky I need you alive, otherwise you would be dead too."

Attempting to fight back, Gaby swung at Alexi, only earning herself a backhand across her face. Alexi grumbled to himself in Italian as he towed Gaby down the hallway at his side before pushing her towards a steep stone flight of steps. "Go," he ordered. When she didn't instantly comply, he shoved his pistol in her face. "I said go!" he screamed, shoving her down the first few.

When Gaby sat down in the passenger seat of the Jeep, Alexi handcuffed her in, pulling on them to make sure they were secure before getting into the drivers seat. "Fucking spies," he hissed, turning the key as the engine roared to life.

"What?" Gaby asked, glancing around to try and see something she had missed.

"You boyfriends are here," Alexi growled, hitting the gas and speeding from the compound. "Too bad they're too late."

* * *

After he had found that the bomb was missing, Illya disregarded everything else and set off on a mission of his own making. Navigating quickly through the compound, he put a bullet in anyone and everyone who got in his way. He didn't have time to waste. Taking out two more guards and completely ignoring Solo as he called after him, Illya hurried off towards the other side of the compound.

He had just cleared another room when something caught his eye. Backtracking, Illya's eyes landed on a familiar purse that lay open and disregarded on the floor of a holding cell. "Peril, you there?"

His jaw clenching in overwhelming anger, Illya's eyes remained locked on the purse. "Da."

"Alexander Vinciguerra has Gaby and the bomb. I'm going after them."

That was all he needed to hear. Turning on his heel and running at full speed, the superhuman Russian's hands tightened around his gun so much they hurt. "I'm right behind you," he ground out into his communicator.

* * *

Gaby was being thrown around in the Jeep so much she was going to be sick. Solo was gaining on Alexi but Kuryakin was nowhere to be seen. Was he still alive? Then, almost to answer her unspoken question, Illya flew out from the forest on a motorcycle and appeared on the opposite side Jeep. Their eyes locked and she saw the concern briefly in his eyes and expression before it disappeared. They went completely cold and hard as they shifted to Alexi beside her. Apparently this is what Illya looked like when he was mad, like really mad. Reaching into his vest, Illya pulled out a handgun and blew out one of the tires on the Jeep.

"God damn Russian." Letting out a growl, Alexi violently jerked the wheel, ramming the Russian spy's motorcycle and causing it to go swerving off the road.

"Illya!" Gaby screamed in horror as she watched him get thrown from his bike. Struggling against her cuffs, Gaby saw that Illya's distraction was enough for Solo to sneak up beside Alexi on his other side. He mouthed 'hold on' to her before nudging Vinciguerra's Jeep enough that it went tumbling off the road.

All previous thoughts of being tossed around seemed like a fantasy compared to the reality of her new predicament. As hard as she tired to hold on to the stabilizer bar, Gaby couldn't and she was thrown around the cabin like a ragdoll, her legs, her head and arms smashing against it. Finally the Jeep rolled to a stop upside down. Gaby focused the majority of her energies on remaining conscious as she lightly pulled on the handcuffs, finding they were very much still intact.

"Gaby? Gaby, are you alright?" Blinking against her blurred vision from hitting her head and the rain that was now falling, Gaby looked up to see water soaked Solo hovering above her. "Hold on, I'm going to get you out of here. Just hold on," he murmured, pulling on the stabilizing bar with all his might.

Finally it dislodged and he slid her handcuffed hands around the bar and pulled her from the wreckage of the Jeep. "Ah!" Gaby cried out in discomfort as she became painfully aware that her ankle was injured. Wasting no time, Solo shot the handcuffs apart.

"I got you," he breathed, laying her carefully down on the ground. Solo moved to inspect her ankle when, out of nowhere, Alexander Vinciguerra appeared, hitting the American spy in the head with a piece of metal off the Jeep. Flying backwards, Solo blinked against the stars that were now circling his head.

"No!" Gaby screamed, forcing herself to override the pain and stand. She had to help Solo. Grabbing Alexi's arm in an attempt to hold him back from assaulting Napoleon further, Vinciguerra instantly turned and backhanded her across the face, sending her crumbling to the ground again. Letting out a quiet sob, Gaby grasped her face. From her place on the ground, she saw Napoleon attempting to fight back, but his disorientation from the blow to his head was clearly getting to him. Alexi was winning.

When the Italian terrorist pulled his gun, Gaby once again forced herself to her feet, launching herself at Alexi, jumping onto his back, grabbing for his firearm. Alexi grabbed Gaby and violently threw her to the ground with ease before landing a solid kick to her ribs, not hesitating a moment before turning back to a floundering Solo.

* * *

Illya didn't know where he was. The only thing he knew was that his whole body was in pain. His head was throbbing uncontrollably and there was an incredible weight holding him down. His eyes peeled open and were instantly greeted with the steady patter of rain. As the Russian struggled to regain his bearings, a cry of pain registered with him and it was like someone had slapped him in the face.

He knew that voice, but he couldn't place it. His brain was beginning to wake up. Blinking repeatedly in attempts to clear the fog that surrounded his mind, Illya heard a scream. Gaby. An awareness thudded back into place and Illya attempted to stand, but again was thwarted by a great weight on his chest. Sitting up as much as he could, Illya saw that he was trapped under the frame of a motorcycle.

Letting out a snarl of frustration, he turned his head to see Gaby on the ground and Solo sparing with Vinciguerra. Grunting, he pushed with all his might and the motorcycle moved enough for him to sit up almost completely. That's when he saw Gaby jump on Alexander Vinciguerra's back in attempts to stop him from killing Solo only to be forcefully thrown to the ground and kicked. His eyes remained on where Gaby lay, her body unmoving except for an involuntary twitch.

The sight stirred something in Illya, a powerful rage that he hadn't felt in a long, long time. Growling and giving it everything he had and then some, the Russian lifted the motorcycle off him, moving across the ground and throwing it at the American's attacker. It only clipped him, but that was all Illya needed. Moving with the speed of a trained killer, he easily blocked a punch from Vinciguerra, his right hand sliding to his belt. As if on autopilot, Illya grabbed Alexander Vinciguerra's right arm and jammed his hunting knife deep into the man's side, all the while, his wild, icy eyes locked onto those of his enemy. This was the real Illya Kuryakin. This was the famous Red Peril, as Solo had become so fond of calling him. He was a killing machine, only this time he was not emotionless. No, he held Vincinguerra's eyes, wanting to see his life slip from them. This was personal.

His breathing ragged, Illya watched the man's eyes go blank and his body crumble to the ground into a lifeless mass. Not missing a beat, the Russian sheathed his knife and turned to go find Gaby. "Cowboy," he murmured an acknowledgement as he passed, staggering over the uneven terrain.

"Don't worry about me Peril, I'm fine," Solo huffed sarcastically from his place on the ground, holding the side of his bloody head as he waved him on.

Approaching Gaby's quivering form, Illya sunk to his knees beside her, sliding his left arm under her head and pulling her into his lap. His right hand coming to stroke her face affectionately as his eyes raked over her body for injuries.

"Illya?" Gaby's voice was weak and raspy as she blinked up at him against the falling rain.

"Shh," he hushed, gently caressing her while smoothing her hair out of her eyes. "It's alright. I'm here." Gaby let out a sigh of relief and relaxed into his arms as he pulled her closer against him. "It's alright. I'm here," he repeated into her hair as the wind from a helicopter landing began blowing.

* * *

"Can you stand?" Illya asked, helping Gaby to her feet but continuing to support her body weight fully.

"I don't know," she whispered, her voice still hoarse.

Tucking his arm under hers, Illya nodded supportively. "Put some weight on it."

Letting out a shallow hiss, Gaby tested out the extent of the damage to her ankle. "I think it's alright. Maybe just a good bruise."

"This ground is uneven and you will just fall and hurt yourself," Kuryakin grumbled, swiftly sweeping Gaby into his arms as he slowly began approaching the helicopter.

"You know, I could use a hand too," Solo grumbled, struggling to his feet as the KGB agent carrying the German girl passed.

"You will be fine," Illya said, sparing him a glance.

"Typical," Napoleon breathed, wincing as he stretched his body out. "I am going to be sore tomorrow."


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything associated with these story, Man from Uncle or these characters. I am not making any money from this story. It is purely being written for my own enjoyment.

 **Author's Note:** Fifth and final chapter, coming at cha! No beta, just me. Any mistakes you find I do humbly apologize. I hope you've enjoyed reading this little story within a story. As previously mentioned, there is a sequel already started, so look forward to that. Any questions, comments, ideas, criticisms, feel free to write them in a comment or PM me.  
As always, I hope you enjoyed reading, and thank you for spending some time in my tale. Until next time.  
Cheers.  
-SB

* * *

After he had deposited her with the medical team, Illya walked away to stand alone by the edge of the cliff, looking out into the ocean that lay before him. He couldn't watch the paramedics poke and prod her. He would feel the need to ask questions and be protective, to bully them into treating her the way he felt was best. Not to mention he couldn't be trusted if one of them accidently caused her discomfort. No, distance was best.

Somehow, after all that had happened, they still managed to complete their mission. "I know, I can't believe it either," Napoleon mumbled, coming to stop beside his Russian counterpart. "Then again I always get the bad guy in the end, so…"

"Oh, you got him did you?" Illya couldn't help it when he rolled his eyes at the American's words. "You cannot be serious."

Frowning, Solo turned to Kuryakin. "As a heart attack."

"You were lying on ground about to be shot when I killed him," the Russian grumbled, his arms crossing his chest defiantly.

Letting out a dry chuckle, Napoleon Solo planted his hands on his hips, wincing slightly at the movement. "Yes, but I spotted Vinciguerra manhandling Gaby on the security cameras while you were god knows where, running around on your own doing god knows what. Need I remind you that Alexander Vinciguerra ran you off the road."

"This conversation is absurd," Illya murmured under his breath, turning back to face the ocean.

"Speaking of absurdities," Solo breathed, wincing again when his hands dropped to his sides. Illya raised an eyebrow as he spared the American a sideways glance. "I may have been on my ass, but don't think for a second I didn't see you throw that motorcycle at him." Illya let out a snort of a laugh. "Don't laugh, I'm being completely serious. What do they feed you behind the iron curtain?" When the Russian didn't answer, Solo smirked. "I feel the need to disclose to you that I am now 100% convinced you're not human, Peril."

Movement by the medics drew the attention of both men as Gaby stood, slowly limping in their direction. Slapping Solo on the back, Kuryakin smiled over at him. "Maybe one day I tell you my secrets."

"I doubt that highly," the American muttered as they began walking leisurely towards Gaby. When they were close enough, Solo called out to her. "How are you feeling, Miss Teller?"

Gaby nodded and attempted to smile but was visibly shaken. "I will be alright."

Closing the distance between them rapidly, Illya grabbed the blanket she was carrying in her hands and unfolded it, wrapping it around her shoulders. "Come, you should sit," he said, wrapping his arm protectively around her as he led her back towards the helicopter.

"I think I'll pop over to the medic now that our little Gaby has been seen," Solo commented, completely ignored by the two who were now walking several feet in front of him. "Excellent. Great work team. No thanks necessary for me," he said to himself, limping over to where the medic was waiting.

* * *

Assisting Gaby in sitting on the steps of the helicopter, Illya knelt down in front of her, his eyes raking over her face as his hands rubbed up and down her arms in attempts to warm her up. "How is your head?" he asked, lifting her hair to inspect the gash that was there.

"Stop fussing over me," she hissed, reaching up and capturing his hand in hers as her other reached out to cup his bloodied, dirt covered face. "Illya, you should see the medic."

Shaking his head and smiling at her, the Russian leaned into her gentle touch. "I am fine." Sighing, he grabbed both of her hands in his and gave their palms a light kiss. "You are my concern, little chop shop girl."

"What sort of trouble have you and Solo gotten into without me to look after you?" she joked, earning a quiet chuckle from Illya.

"I think rather it was you who got into trouble without me to look after you," he said, smirking.

"Get a room already," Solo grumbled, wincing at he plopped down beside Gaby, now holding a large handful of gauze against his bloody forehead.

"We have a room," Gaby quipped, earning a supportive chuckle from her Russian. "One with a bed that I'd very much like to lay down in."

Standing, Illya released her hands and leaned against the helicopter next to Gaby. His left hand came to rest on her shoulder, rubbing it absentmindedly as the three of them watched a second helicopter land and Waverly stroll out of it.

"An admirable job team," he greeted, his eyes scanning their faces. "Unfortunately while you managed to save our Gaby here, there's a slight problem."

"What?" Illya murmured, watching Gaby's boss expectantly.

"Wrong warhead."

Letting out an exasperated breath, Illya's eyes drifted over to Solo who was shaking his head. "Perfect."

"What is the plan?" Gaby asked, surprising them all by being the first one to speak up.

"If you're feeling up to it," Waverly said, gesturing they follow him as he turned and headed back to the helicopter he had just come from.

Helping Gaby stand, Illya once again wrapped an arm around her for support as the three agents made their way towards the waiting helicopter. "How are you doing over there, Cowboy?"

"Never better, Peril," Solo answered instantly, smirking. Shaking his head, Illya aided Gaby in stepping up into the helicopter before holding out a hand for Solo as well. "Don't be absurd," the American grumbled, slapping the Russian's hand away as he struggled to get into the helicopter on his own.

Sitting down in the seat beside Gaby, Illya moved to grab his headset, but the German girl already had it in her hands, holding it out for him. "Thank you," he murmured, accepting it and putting it on.

"Buckle up," she breathed, gesturing towards his seatbelt. Illya rolled his eyes at her, snapping the safety device into place before stretching out his back and settling in to the small space. Sighing, Gaby laid her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. "Wake me when we get to where we're going," she said sleepily.

Kuryakin stared down at the German girl next to him and couldn't help the small smile that slid onto his face. There was still a bomb out there they needed to find, but she was safe, and somehow despite his best efforts, that was the most important thing.

* * *

"I have an idea," Gaby spoke up, earning everyone's attention.

"And just what would that be?" Waverly asked, his interest grabbed by his agent.

Gaby felt her nerves rising with all eyes on her and all the pressure of the situation. "When I was on the island, a scientist explained to me how the two bombs work. There is a tracking device within each that allows it to lock onto the other. Something about maximizing the damage- I don't-" Gaby sighed in frustration, rubbing her aching head.

"It is alright," Illya whispered in her ear as he gave her shoulder a supportive squeeze. "Take a deep breath."

"And this scientist?" Solo questioned, giving Gaby a supportive smile. "Did he explain further how it works?"

"No," Gaby said, sighing. "But we could ask him." When everyone stared at her like she was crazy, Gaby gestured over her shoulder. "I saw him on deck when we first landed."

Giving her a bright smile, Waverly looked around the control room. "Excellent! Let's get Victoria Vinciguerra's ship on the radio and while we do that, Kuryakin, would you mind terribly taking Gaby down to see our scientist?"

"Come," Illya murmured, his arm sliding to the small of Gaby's back as he guided her from the control room.

"What if he won't do what we want?" Gaby asked nervously, fidgeting next to Illya as they headed for the ships holding cells.

Giving her a wry look, Illya shook his head. "He will."

"How can you be so sure?"

Illya smiled down at her. "I am sure." Stopping, Illya nodded to the holding cell full of scientists. "Pick out your scientist, little chop shop girl."

Turning to the cell, Gaby squinted in at them. "Him," she said, pointing a scientist in the back who was trying and failing at fading into the background.

"You." Pointing at the scientist in question as the others quickly moved away from him, the KGB agent stepped into the doorway of the cell that had just been opened. "Come here."

The scientist glanced around at the others in the cell as if he were looking for someone to come to his aid. No one did. "H-how can I help you?" he asked, hesitatingly stepping forward.

Grabbing the scientist by the scruff of his neck, Illya marched him out and down the hallway to an open room, shoving him towards where the bomb had been laid out by the crew of the ship. Crossing his arms over his chest as he stood towering over the scientist, Illya set his jaw firmly in place. "I don't understand…" the scientist said, looking around under he saw Gaby again. "What does he want?"

"You told me about the bombs, about how they can lock on to each other," Gaby explained, stepping forward.

"The homing beacon," the scientist nodded.

"Yes, that." Glancing over her shoulder at her silent Russian enforcer, she looked back to the scientist. "We are going to need you to turn that on."

Looking as if she'd purposed something funny, the scientist shrugged his shoulders, shaking his head. "I'd like to help you Miss Teller, but I can't. Victoria would kill me if-"

"Victoria isn't here," Gaby interrupted, taking a step forward, her hand coming to rest atop the bomb. "However my friend over there is here, and we would like you to turn it on."

When the scientist remained stationary, his eyes locked on Illya's imposing form, the Russian decided to help Gaby out a bit. "Now," he breathed, causing the scientist to jump.

Taking a few steps back to stand beside him, Gaby looked Illya over. "You were quite menacing just now," she murmured, earning a small smile.

"You were not terrible," he replied, keeping his eyes trained on the scientist as he worked.

"Not terrible?" Gaby questioned. "I thought I did well."

Shrugging, Illya spared her a glance. "Not bad, but room for improvement." Rolling her eyes, Gaby elbowed him gently in the ribs. "Be careful," Illya chuckled quietly, coughing under his breath.

"Oh, I'm so sorry Illya," Gaby apologized, her hands coming to gently rest against his injured side. "Are you alright?"

Nodding, Illya's smile reached his eyes. "I will be alright. It has just been very long twenty four hours."

"Yes it has," Gaby breathed.

"All finished," the scientist announced, earning both of their attention again.

"Good," Illya growled, grabbing him by the arm and pushing him towards two armed naval officers. "Put him back with his friends."

Gaby watched as personnel from the ship carted the bomb off to be loaded up as Illya guided her back towards command. "Now what?" she asked.

"Now we hope it works," Illya said, shrugging.

* * *

Illya and Gaby stood listening to Solo's speech side by side in the crowded control room. The American spy definitely had a talent for speaking that was for certain. When the bomb hit Vinciguerra's ship, it was like everyone on board let out a collective nervous breath they were unaware of holding. Gaby slunk back into an empty seat, completely exhausted, her head falling into her hands.

Clapping his hands together, Waverly looked around the room with pride. "Well done, team! Excellent work!" He was met with three very tired faces. "Right, ok. Can we get the chopper ready please?" he asked, turning to a crewmember. "I think these three have earned a little rest."

* * *

The whole way back to the hotel, Gaby was slumped over next to Illya, her head resting on his shoulder and his around her, keeping her in place. From his place across from them in the taxi, Solo watched as Illya's head slumped to the side himself several times before finally remaining propped up against hers, his eyes closed.

It was an odd and somewhat unsettling sight for Solo to see the giant, superhuman Russian, his face calm and relaxed as he slept. Solo narrowed his eyes at the pair in front of him. It had only been a handful of days since he'd sent Gaby off to Rome with the Red Peril. She had hated him then. Pursing his lips together, his eyes fell to where her left hand was resting on his leg.

Solo knew the Russian had the strangest, almost innocent crush on Gaby, but never had it occurred to him that she could be harboring feelings for the colossal, obstinate Russian as well.

"Stop." His eyes darted up to where the Russian's grey orbs were piercing into his. Apparently he wasn't so asleep after all.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Solo breathed, shrugging.

Narrowing slightly, Illya's eyes were sharp and held a warning. "I think you do."

"Please," Napoleon said, gesturing for Illya to speak. "Enlighten me."

Illya moved to sit up straight but his eyes fell on Gaby's sleeping form and he exhaled loudly, slumping back down. "You are staring at me."

"What did I miss here?" Solo asked, grinning as he gestured between the Russian and sleeping German girl.

Scoffing, the Russian rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You say that quite a bit, do you know that?" Sitting forward in his chair, Solo smiled broadly. "You do know, however, but by all means, keep your little secrets. I'm a spy. I'll figure it out soon enough."

The Russian laughed outright, wincing when Gaby stirred beside him. "Are we there already?" she moaned, rubbing her eyes and yawning as she set up.

"No, you can go back to sleep," Illya murmured quietly as his eyes scanned her sleepy expression.

"That's alright. I'm awake now," Gaby said, yawning again. "What did I miss?"

"What indeed." Instantly the two male spy's eyes snapped to each other, Illya's flashing a warning as Solo's mischievously twinkled. "Nothing much," Solo said shrugging. "Just a little spy talk. Speaking of which, don't think I've let you off the hook for lying to me."

"I didn't lie," Gaby said defensively. "I just didn't volunteer information."

"Spoken like a true spy," Napoleon smirked, glancing out the window. "I still cannot believe I didn't even suspect a thing," he murmured to himself, rubbing the beginning of beard stubble that was forming on his chin.

Illya rolled his eyes as he retracted his arm, crossing them over his chest as the three fell into silence.

The rest of the ride to the hotel was spent in that awkward quiet that so often settled between them. When the car pulled up in front of the hotel, Illya practically sprinted out of it and muttered about having to finish up with something before he had to leave.

"Well, that was uncomfortable." Napoleon offered Gaby his hand, helping her out of the car before effortlessly tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, escorting her into the hotel. "How are you feeling?" he asked quietly, sparing a small, cheerful smile to a couple as they passed.

Sighing, Gaby shrugged. "I think I'm numb. How's your head?"

Nodding, Solo pressed the call button for the elevator. "Presently I can't say, however I plan on having a few very stiff drinks and reevaluating the situation."

"I'm sorry," she apologized as the doors to the elevator slid open.

Leading her inside, Napoleon pressed the button for the seventh floor before shooting Gaby a quizzical look. "For what?"

"I can't help but feel responsible for the way things happened today," Gaby frowned, tears pricking in her eyes.

"No, no, no. Don't you cry-" A dinging noise signaled before the elevator doors slid open, revealing a young couple. They took a step into the elevator before Napoleon held up his hands, ushering them back out. "I apologize for the inconvenience, but we're going to need a moment."

"What?" the man asked as the door closed in their confused faces.

Hitting the emergency stop button, Solo turned to Gaby, his arms crossing his chest and his face judgmental. "Why on Earth do you think anything that happened today was your fault?"

"I could've told you. I could've told Illya," she breathed, blinking away her tears. "I should've told you both. Because of me you're both injured and could be dead."

"It's hardly because of you," Napoleon contradicted, rolling his eyes. "There was a madman with a bomb, a bomb that we assumed was the right one. Well, the only one." Gaby opened her mouth to say something but thought better of it, closing her mouth instead. "Admit that I'm right and stop beating yourself up." When she silently nodded, averting her gaze, Solo wagered a guess as to her thoughts. Leaning forward again, Solo hit the button and the elevator resumed its upward course.

"Gaby, if Kuryakin wants to make careless mistakes, that's hardly your fault." Gaby's eyes snapped up to meet Napoleon's bright blue ones. "That's what happened," he said, shrugging. "Peril put himself between the edge of a ravine and Vinciguerra's Jeep. If you hadn't been in the car, there's no doubt in my mind things would've gone down much differently. He made that choice on his own."

"I don't think-" the elevator dinged, cutting Gaby off.

Gesturing for her to exit before him, Napoleon followed her the short distance down the hallway to her room, his hands folded behind his back. Solo waited patiently as Gaby reached into her pockets for her room key and coming up with nothing. Groaning, she leaned her head against the door to her room. "Why can't today just be over?" she asked herself quietly.

Gently maneuvering her out of the way, Solo produced a small tool from his pocket and within seconds the door was open. "Napoleon, you are a dream," Gaby breathed, sighing out of relief and planting a kiss on his cheek as she passed by him into her suite.

Straightening up, the American spy cleared his through before stepping into the threshold of the suite. "Well, I'll leave you to your packing and rest. It's been quite the day."

Gaby turned and stared at him sadly from across the suite. "Thank you, Napoleon."

"Whatever for?" Solo asked, confused by her repetitive thanks.

"For getting me out of East Berlin. For saving my life. For being a good friend," she listed, smiling fondly at him.

Self consciously glancing down at his shoes, Napoleon Solo nodded to himself. Much like the Russian, he too had emotional triggers. Unlike Kuryakin, whenever anyone elicited emotions in him, he shut down, not fired up and destroyed the place. "Anytime, Miss Teller. Day or night, I'm at your disposal."

Closing the door to the Russian spy and German girl's suite, Napoleon strolled down the hallway, his brain tumbling over several things. As he waited for the elevator, Napoleon glanced back in the direction he'd come from, smiling in fondness. Never did he think that the girl from a car shop in East Berlin would turn out to be such a charming, entertaining person; a friend. A friend, Solo mused. He wasn't unfamiliar with the word, just its practical application. A female friend, nonetheless. What was happening to him?

The ding of the elevator brought him back to what he was doing at present and he chuckled quietly to himself as he turned back to face it.

"What is that look for?"

His smile dissipating, Solo sighed. "How is it that you consistently manage to show up out of nowhere?"

Shrugging, the tall Russian stepped out of the elevator and glanced down at the shorter American. "A gift, perhaps."

"A gift," Solo repeated, feeling it trigger something he wanted to remember. "Peril," Napoleon called after his Russian counterpart, causing him to stop in his movements. "How about a drink for old time sake? Grab Gaby and come up to my room in say… twenty minutes?"

Giving him a small smile, Illya nodded. "Ok."

* * *

Unlocking the door to their suite, Illya stood facing the closed door. He knew when he opened it he would be seeing Gaby for what was most likely the last time. Reaching for the handle to open the door, the Russian spy froze. What did he say? What should he do? Should he say or do anything at all?

Sighing, he turned the handle and opened the door, gracefully stepping inside.

"Oh good, you're back," Gaby greeted casually, as she padded past him in a little white dress and bare feet. "Did you get everything you needed to get done?"

Watching her flutter around made Illya's heart ache. Kuryakin had found himself captured by Gaby Teller so quickly and completely. Now he found himself faced with saying goodbye to someone he'd become very fond of. Illya didn't have people he was fond of. He knew his life without her would feel empty and dark, just like before. An endless series of nameless faces and tasks to complete.

"Yes… thank you," he murmured, un-zipping his jacket but not taking it off. Glancing into their bedroom he saw his suitcase sitting on his bed full of folded clothes and his suits hanging up in their bag. "You packed my things?" he asked.

Pausing in her own packing, Gaby glanced over her shoulder at him, her face guarded. "I didn't know when you would be back or when you have to leave, so I wanted to be helpful."

"No it's- nice. Thank you," Illya nodded, his face stoic as he watched her resume her work. Several times while he stood there in the living room, his hands folded behind his back, he opened his mouth to say something but stopped himself every time. Finally he walked away to where his equipment was sitting out on the table by the window and started packing it away.

Gaby finished packing and half-carried half-dragged her bags into the living room, unbeknownst to Illya. When she'd gotten her bags close to the door, Gaby stood and watched her Russian roommate. His current state made her sad. He seemed so withdrawn, like he was trying to isolate himself in the corner of the room as he packed his spy gear meticulously, every so often she'd catch him muttering to himself in Russian.

"My father used to warn me about frowning like that," she murmured, approaching slowly. Placing his last tool into his bag, Illya turned to face her. Before he could ask the question that was on the tip of her tongue, Gaby gave him a small smile, shaking her head. "Not him. My real father. My foster father, I suppose."

Illya nodded, a rueful smile coming to his lips. "And what did he say?"

Smiling fondly at the memory, Gaby's eyes drifted to the ceiling as she recalled it. "He used to say, Gabriella," she breathed, changing her voice to imitate her German mechanic father, "if you concentrate too hard your face will stay scrunched like that." Chuckling, she looked back to the Russian in front of her. Reaching up, she pushed his serious brow up. "Don't ruin your handsome face with frown lines, Illya."

Snorting out a laugh, the Russian crossed his arms over his chest, staring down at the German girl who had entirely caught him off guard. "Are you all packed?"

"I think so," she sighed, glancing over her shoulder to where her luggage sat. "Are you?"

Nodding, his smile fell. "Thanks to you I am much closer than I thought I'd be."

"I'm sorry." Gaby half blurted out, her face showing her regret.

"For what?" Illya asked, confused.

"For not telling you," she murmured, blinking up as he turned to mess with his bag. "I wanted to tell you so many times, but-"

"I understand completely," Illya said, shrugging and sparing her a glance. "I would've done the same thing."

Gaby pursed her lips together as she watched him move, nodding to herself. She didn't know how to say goodbye and the longer she dragged this out the harder it was getting, especially since he was clearly shutting down on her. "Well, I called the bellhop so he should be here shortly," she said, earning his attention.

Illya seemed to be searching for the words as his eyes scanned her face. "What is next for you? Where will you go?"

"I know I'm not going back to Germany," she said, shaking her head. "Where are you off to?"

"Back home," he said, giving a smile that didn't touch his eyes. "I am sorry about your father."

Gaby bit the inside of her cheek as she attempted to control her emotions. "Don't be. I lost him a long time ago."

Nodding in understanding, Illya gave her a sad smile. "Yet I am sorry all the same."

They held each other's gaze for a minute before something clicked with Gaby. "Oh, I almost forgot." Holding her hand up, Gaby pulled the ring off her engagement finger. Prying his arms apart from their crossed position, Gaby grabbed his left hand and placed the ring in his palm. "I believe this belongs to you."

Illya gazed down at the ring in his hand for a moment before grabbing her left hand in his, slipping the ring back on. "No, you keep it," he breathed, his hand holding onto hers as their eyes met. "It suits you and it will make keeping track of you much easier."

"Why would you want to do that?" Their lips were drifting closer and closer together, and as they did, Gaby couldn't help but feel her breath becoming more rapid. "Keep track of me, that is."

"In case you get into trouble." He was so close now it was like they were breathing the same air.

A sharp knock on the door caused them both to jump apart. "That's probably the bellboy," Gaby breathed, turning to get the door. Illya sighed in aggravation as she let the two lobby boys in and instructed them where to take her luggage.

"Cowboy has invited us up to his room for a drink," Illya tried, stepping forward to engage her in conversation again.

Gaby gave him a small smile, shaking her head. "I'm afraid I can't. I have to meet Waverly."

"Well I-" Illya started but the telephone rang. Glaring over his shoulder at it, he turned back to Gaby only to have it naggingly continue to ring. "I'm sorry," he apologized before grabbing it.

Gaby listened as he began speaking quickly and quietly in Russian with whoever it was and frowned, saddened by how their goodbye was turning out. Then a thought came to her. She could fix it. It would be better if they didn't say goodbye, not like this. No, she would see him again, she was sure of it. The universe clearly had other ideas about letting them be together, so perhaps she should listen.

Giving him a small, silent wave, Gaby turned and followed the bellboys out of the suite, missing the disappointment on his face when Illya turned to find Gaby had already gone.

* * *

Solo had the records. Solo had what his government wanted. He had to get what they wanted or he would be shipped off to an internment camp like his father.

Hearing Oleg speak of his father was the tipping point. Illya had been collecting stress and anxiety this entire mission and now Gaby was gone and he was all alone in the large, lavish suite. All alone. All alone again. Always alone.

Illya's right hand instinctively went to push his left sleeve up to check the time on his father's watch only to realize it was gone. His naked wrist was like a slap in the face. Breathing heavily, Illya's shaky hands slid down his legs to rest atop his knees as he focused on his breathing, all the while his fingers tapping at a mad pace.

 **In.** He is one screw-up from living out his days in a Siberian gulag. That is if they do not decide to just outright kill him. **Out.** He might have to kill the man he owes his life to. **In.** He didn't even have a chance to say goodbye to Gaby much less tell her how he felt. Now he would never see her again. **Out.**

There was a ringing in his ears as he stood up to his full height, shaking his head in an attempt to stop the noise. Unable to control his rage any longer, the Russian grabbed the telephone and ripping it from the wall, whipped it across the room before turning towards the rest of the unsuspecting furniture.

After he had destroyed everything within arms reach, he straightened up, still breathing heavily as he exited the suite. One flight of stairs and a short hallway brought him to Napoleon Solo's door.

Blinking, his eyes shifted to his raised, open hand that was poised to knock. It was shaking so badly he couldn't even make a fist. His hands dropped to in front of him and they came into better focus as he took in their appearance. Scratched, bruised and bloody; they looked as bad as he felt. Staring at the door, Illya swallowed hard, forcing his hands to still before knocking.

"It's open."

Suppressing all of the emotions that were threatening to boil over again, Illya moved through the suite, every step calculated as he stopped in front of Solo's mini bar, watching him continue to fold things and place them into his suitcase. "No Gaby?" Solo asked, not bothering to look up from what he's doing.

"No," the Russian murmured, his left eye twitching at the mention of Gaby. "She had to go see Waverly."

"That's too bad," Napoleon said, frowning. "Why don't you pour us some drinks? I think we've earned them."

Reaching forward, Illya poured two drinks, raising his to his lips but deciding against it and setting it down. He watched as Solo dug through his suitcase, unzipping his jacket and sliding his hand to his holstered gun.

"I almost forgot. Here!"

Jumping and removing his hand from his gun, Illya blinked down at the timepiece the American had just thrown to him. Shooting Solo a look of disbelief, Illya flipped the watch over to look at the inscription on the back. As quickly as his fingers would allow, Illya latched it to his wrist. "But, how?" he stuttered, unable to believe it.

"I found it on the island," Solo murmured, lifting his folded jacket off of his footstool to reveal the data backup. "I think you were a little preoccupied looking for something- or rather someone- of higher value. But I know how much it means to you, so I couldn't just leave it there." Setting his jaw in a firm line, Illya's eyes flickered down to the backup and then back to Solo. "I'm guessing your bosses told you to get this from me and I'm betting they told you to kill me if you have to."

Nodding, Illya's sharp eyes didn't move from Napoleon, watching him like a hawk. "So what do we do?" the American spy asked, his hands sliding effortlessly into his pockets. "I don't particularly want to kill you today."

"What makes you think you could?" Illya breathed, not giving anything away.

Shrugging, Solo smirked. "So I repeat. What do we do?"

Illya pursed his lips in thought as he looked at the tape. "I have an idea."

"I'm all ears, Peril."

* * *

After knocking on Waverly's door, Gaby folded her arms behind her back and waited patiently for him to answer. "Ah Gaby, come in. Come in," Waverly smiled, holding the door open for her and gesturing for her to enter. Gaby stepped into Waverly's modest suite. "Sit, please," he murmured, unbuttoning his jacket and sitting.

Sitting herself, Gaby did her best to appear pleasant and in good spirits. "How can I help you Sir?"

"Oh you don't have to call me Sir," Waverly said, literally waving off her formalities. "Well you can if you'd like. Or you can call me Waverly," he chuckled, shrugging. "How are you feeling my dear girl? You look a little worse for the wear."

"I'm alright," Gaby sighed, rubbing her sore, scraped arm. "Thank you for coming to get me."

"Of course," Waverly nodded, "but I cannot accept full credit for your rescue. You definitely have acquired two very dedicated admirers, Gaby Teller."

Gaby self-consciously looked down at her fingernails. "Yes well…"

Waverly gave her an all-knowing smile. "So I was hoping we could spend a little time discussing your future. Do you know what your next step is?"

"I know that I am not going back to Germany," Gaby said honestly. "Other than that, I really hadn't given it much serious thought. I was just trying to make it through this last mission."

"Fair enough," Waverly nodded, folding his hands in his lap. "Is there any chance I can convince you to come work for me as a sort of full time gig?"

Gaby's eyebrows raised in shock. "But I'm not a spy. At least not really."

"True, but you have natural talent, Gaby, and your skill set would make you ideal for my team." Waverly gave her a wry smile. "If you have interest in building your skill set, we most certainly can do that. If you are comfortable where you're at, I am perfectly confident that you will be a valuable asset as is as well."

Gaby shifted in her seat as she thought over what he said. "I'm not sure I would be any good," she murmured.

"You would be perfect. I need someone who is calm and in control under pressure, someone who is personable but doesn't let others walk all over them," Waverly explained, his eyes dancing. "I need someone who is intelligent yet street smart who can drive like a pro." Gaby looked like she was being swayed and Waverly went in for the kill. "What do you say, Teller? Give it a go."

Sighing, she flashed a self conscious smile. "I don't think I'm all those things, but I suppose I'm willing to try."

"Excellent!" Slapping his hand on his knee, Waverly stood. "I think we should pop upstairs and have a little chat with your boys."

"Sir?" Gaby called, standing and walking after him as they exited his suite. "What about my luggage? The bellhop-"

"It's a good thing you said yes because I'd already taken the liberty of having your luggage sent to our next destination." Pushing the call button for the elevator, Waverly smiled over at her. "Great shoes by the way."

Glancing down at her feet, Gaby smiled. "Napoleon picked them out."

Shaking his head, Waverly stepped into the elevator. "That man has impeccable taste, doesn't he?"

* * *

"Shouldn't we knock?" Gaby asked, hesitantly following Waverly into Solo's suite, nervously looking around. She didn't want to have to do goodbyes again, but apparently she didn't have a choice in the matter.

Glancing around, Waverly looked at the open door to the patio. "I do believe they're outside." Stepping out into the sunshine, Waverly slipped on his sunglasses. "Well this is a welcome sight to be sure."

Stopping just inside the doorway, Gaby tapped her sunglasses nervously into the palm of her hand. Taking a deep breath, she slipped them on and put on her game face. If she was going to be a spy she'd need to learn how to control her emotions. "No time like the present," she breathed.

* * *

Heals clicking on the stone of the patio drew Illya's passive attention from Waverly to where Gaby was approaching. Clearing his throat under his breath and straightening up, Illya tried to appear casual as he leaned back against the railing. She said nothing, but they held each other's gaze for several moments before she looked away, trying to hide her smile.

"I thought you three ended up working very well together," Waverly was saying by the time Illya and Gaby began listening again. "So much so that I have worked out a little arrangement."

"What kind of arrangement?" Illya asked, not sure he was liking the direction Waverly was headed.

"I'm glad you asked, Kuryakin. Your bosses have generously agreed to let me borrow you on loan and since Gaby here has just signed on, that makes us all one big happy family."

Solo's jaw went slack at the news, blinking blankly over at Waverly who was now his new boss. He was now partners- officially, full time- with Illya Kuryakin, the Russian superhuman. The Red Peril. And just when he was starting to like him... "This is very hard for me to believe," Illya challenged, his face neutral, but Gaby knew better. The spot just under his right eye had twitched.

"Feel free to call your superiors to confirm everything I'm saying, but you three are now my team." Smiling proudly, Waverly gave them a good once over before clapping his hands together. "I will leave you three to get reacquainted, but we leave for the airport in an hour."

"Where are we going?" Gaby asked, speaking up for the first time since the bomb dropped.

"Istanbul," he nodded, turning on his heal and heading inside. "Oh, and you have a new code name. U.N.C.L.E."

"Uncle?" Solo grumbled, not liking the way it sounded. Then again, he wasn't really liking anything Waverly was saying.

They all watched Waverly exit in silence before sparing each other a look. Illya scoffed, setting his glass of scotch down and moving to follow the British spymaster without a word, leaving Solo and Gaby on the patio alone.

Sighing, Gaby reached forward and scooped up the Russian's discarded drink, downing it. Solo raised his eyebrows, impressed. "What? He wasn't coming back for it," she said, shrugging.

"No, I wasn't judging, merely observing," Napoleon mused, pouring her a refill. "Please, drink up. I don't want to drink alone and I plan on drinking quite a few after that announcement." Holding up his glass, he saluted her before gulping it all down and refilling his glass nearly to the rim.

Taking a sip of her fresh drink, Gaby winced at its strength. "That was quite the shock, wasn't it?"

"Yes, yes it was," the American breathed, sipping his scotch and glancing out over the city. "You didn't know this was coming?"

"No," Gaby sighed, shrugging. "It was news to me too." Nodding, Napoleon finished off his drink before pouring another, remaining silent. The longer they stood alone on the patio gazing out over the city in silence the more tension Gaby felt. Glancing towards Solo's suite, she gestured over her shoulder. "Do you think he's coming back?"

"Ever?" Solo quipped. Looking away from the scenery, Napoleon Solo squinted through the brightness to stare at his friend. "You know, you never can be sure with Russians, that one in particular. He's quite the enigma."

"I suppose so," Gaby pondered aloud, taking a large sip of her drink.

Solo watched her carefully before speaking, trying to plan his words accordingly. "Since it sounds like the three of us will soon be a semi-permanent unit, I feel the need to pry." Gaby raised an eyebrow questioningly at the American's words. "I'm just going to ask. What is going on between you and my best pal, Kuryakin?"

"Nothing," Gaby murmured, keeping her face neutral. "Why, did he say there was?"

"Not in so many words, no. You know Peril isn't particularly fond of words," Napoleon said, trying to be as diplomatic as possible. He didn't know whom he would have a harder time getting information out of between the two of them. Solo was betting the Russian, but the German girl before him was quite formidable as well. "I couldn't help but notice his infatuation with you though." He watched her face closely for tells but couldn't pick anything out. Point for her. "For a hard, cold hearted Russian- which he most certainly is- he sure did warm up to you. And rather quickly, I might add. I feel the need to inform you that he was rather crushed when we thought you'd betrayed us, so we now know he is capable of feelings other than anger, annoyance and my personal favorite, rage-monster."

Keeping it passive, Gaby gave a half shrug. "Weren't you upset when you thought I'd used you?"

"Yes, so imagine my surprise when he not only seemed more upset than me, but he actually argued that your betrayal of him was worse than your betrayal of yours truly," Solo said, moving to sit across from her at the small café table. "Me. Can you imagine? I'm the one who found you and brought you into this. I felt-feel," he correctly quickly, "quite responsible for you and I thought you were an innocent, sweet young woman. Turns out you're quite the gifted little actress, Miss Teller." Giving a comical gesture, Napoleon took another sip, relishing in the warmth it was giving him. "And when he saved me from your uncle-"

"I'm sorry, what?" Gaby sputtered, spitting out her drink. Leaning forward, Solo offered her his handkerchief. Dapping the corner of her mouth demurely, Gaby set her glass down. "My uncle? What on Earth was he doing?"

"A little unwilling electroshock therapy. You know, I've been told I would benefit from therapy, but after that I'm not sure I'm willing to give it another go," Napoleon chuckled into his drink, enjoying that he could laugh about one of the worst experiences he'd had in a long while. "I suppose this is a rather bad time to share this piece of information, but since I've already started us down this road and there really isn't an ideal time… your Uncle Rudi is slightly deceased."

"Slightly deceased?" Gaby asked, her eyes narrowing at Solo.

Pursing his lips before taking another sip, Napoleon blinked over at his German friend. "I suppose slightly deceased could be misinterpreted." When he didn't continue, Gaby raised an eyebrow expectantly. "He's dead."

Her face remained stoically blank as she stared back at him. "How?" she asked quietly.

* * *

For the next thirty minutes Napoleon Solo shared with Gaby what she had missed, completely catching her up. As he spoke, they continued to drink. By the end, they were laughing boisterously. "You know, I didn't think of this as a particularly funny story, but I'm just relieved you're not crying," Napoleon chuckled, pouring the rest of the decanter evenly into each of the glasses before leaning forward and clinking them together.

"I just- I can't believe it," Gaby sighed, holding her side as she tried not to laugh while taking a sip. "My Uncle Rudi was insane, literally insane. He was a crazy person," Gaby snorted into her drink. "Did you say he was a serial killer?"

"Yes, apparently several, although I'd only ever heard of the one," Solo nodded, his face cheerful as he took a gulp of his drink before his eyes widened. "Uh oh.

"Uh oh?" Gaby said, not getting it as she took another sip. "Uh oh what?"

Napoleon did his best to compose himself but let out a muffled chuckle. "I think we're in trouble."

Gaby turned in her seat to see Illya standing with his arms crossed over his chest, his face displeased. "What is this?" he murmured, addressing Napoleon directly.

Turning back around in her seat, Gaby giggled under her breath, pointing over her shoulder to Illya. Solo shrugged. "My Russian friend, Gaby and I are having a drink before we have to leave for the airport. You know, you should really have a drink. It will take the edge off." His eyes falling to the empty bottle, Solo comically winced. "I'm afraid we're all out out here on the patio, but you're more than welcome to anything you find at the minibar inside."

"Is that what you're doing? Taking the edge off?" Illya hissed, his frown deepening as he watched Gaby take another sip of her drink. Scoffing, he leaned forward and swiped it from her. When she stood and reached for it, Illya poured it over the balcony.

"Hey!" she cried, shooting him an angry glare. From below came shouts of Italian profanities, but the Russian ignored them. Leaning over the railing, Gaby turned back to the Russian. "There are people down there you know."

"That was expensive," Solo grumbled, sitting up straighter in his chair.

"I do not care." Holding out his hand Illya waited for Gaby to take it.

Gaby frowned down at it, slapping it away as he reached for her. "Where were you anyway?"

Pursing his lips together as he tried to control his temper, Illya took a deep, calming breath. "I had to make a phone call." Napoleon snorted at the answer, taking another sip of his drink. The Russian's upper lip twitched in anger as he glared over at his American partner. "We are leaving soon. You should try to get yourself together."

"I am together," Gaby frowned, looking around as if she'd find pieces of herself on the patio.

"Come, we are leaving," Illya breathed, grabbing Gaby's arm and pulling her towards Napoleon's suite.

"I thought you just said we had some time!" Solo called, standing hastily and jogging to catch up with them.

Glaring over at him, Illya removed his sunglasses as they entered the suite. "Get yourself together," he repeated to Solo, frowning as Gaby pulled her arm from him and flopped onto the couch. Sighing, his hands went to his hips, as he looked down at her in exasperation. "You are acting like petulant child."

Standing between them and off to the side, Solo's eyes shifted between the other two members of his team with a goofy grin plastered on his face. "Why didn't you tell me?" Gaby asked, standing and walking right up to the Russian spy.

"Why didn't I tell you what?" he asked, his hands still firmly on his hips.

"That my uncle tried to kill Napoleon?" Gaby looked up at him definitely. "That he was some sort of deranged serial killer… for decades apparently. Or that he's dead?"

Kuryakin sighed, reaching forward and placing his hands on her shoulders. "I did not want to upset you further. You just found out about your father and-"

"Did you think I wasn't strong enough to handle it?" she asked.

Shaking his head, Illya's left hand came up to cup Gaby's cheek. "Of course you are strong enough, but I did not want to burden you."

"What is happening?" Solo whispered to himself, shaking his head and walking back into his bedroom to quickly fold and pack the rest of his things.

Not paying attention to their American team member, Gaby's eyes drifted closed and she took a step forward, closing the space between her and Illya to rest her head against his chest as his arms encircled her. "Are you going to be alright?" the Russian spy breathed into her hair, kissing the top of her head lightly as if he'd done it a thousand times.

Gaby nodded, her arms coming around his waist. "What's in Istanbul, Illya?" she murmured, her voice distant and dreamy.

"That Hagia Sophia," Illya murmured, smiling when Gaby's laughter filled his ears and shook his chest.

* * *

 _That's all for now, folks! If you enjoyed this little side adventure, stay tuned for the sequel! I hope you enjoyed it._


End file.
